Hermit Hearts Unfold
by OCD ADD Goldfish
Summary: "Very well, Professor. Then we shall die together, won't that be romantic? And you can go to your grave, proud of the fact that you once more allowed one of your charges to go to an early grave and did absolutely nothing but stand by and watch." Marriage-contract fic. Not Slash. AU where Snape, Remus and Tonks survive.
1. Slytherins and Gryffindors

**Disclaimer: **The world of Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling. For the "Long Haul Competition III" and "The If You Dare Challenge".

**Prompt: **Successful Career (#306)

**~x~X~x~**

**Hermit Hearts Unfold**

**~x~X~x~**

**Chapter 1: **

_**Slytherins and Gryffindors**_

Tracey Davis was not a morning person. In point of fact, she was as far from a morning person, as it was possible to be.

Were the young and very recently minted auror not a witch, she might just have been a vampire, as she did prefer to go to sleep as the sun was to rise and wake when it was to set. Although, that wasn't the only reason she'd earned the nickname, little vampire, from more than one of her ex-boyfriends.

But that is neither here nor there.

On that fateful morning, in spite of not being a morning person, Tracey Davis found herself trudging through the auror offices. Her feet dragged on the floor, as she ambled through with all the grace of a zombie, sure to make many wonder how she'd ever managed to pass her stealth tests for Auror training with such high marks.

"It's too bloody fucking hot," were the first words out of her mouth as she stopped next to her partner's cubicle, one Harry James Potter's.

Harry, who had gotten used to his partner's antics in the past month or so that they'd been paired together, did little more than look up from his desk. However, his gaze froze on the form of the witch before him.

Tracey Davis, in spite of her foul mouth, even fouler morning temper, and her less than preoccupied style of dress, was an extremely attractive witch. And he'd have to have been blind not to be momentarily stupified by her form of dress, or the fact that she wore so very little beneath her open, midnight-purple, auror-robes.

Very long, lean and pale legs were smooth and on display due to the jean-shorts that fell several inches short of mid-thigh. A spaghetti strap shirt in navy blue failed to cover the full expanse of her torso and showed a sliver of her lower abdomen and the ridge of her hipbones. It's neckline, while not immodest, still showed a tantalizing amount of creamy skin.

Her hair, which reminded him of red-velvet cake, was swooped into a high ponytail out of her face. Which while pretty, was presently sporting a scowl, instead of the bored expression he was used to seeing.

"You're drooling, Potter," the girl with a naturally sultry voice sniped at him, vexation coating her tone.

Harry blushed as he, rather stupidly he thought to himself later, denied the fact.

He the proceeded to glare at the red-headed girl he'd been forced to work with. In spite of her good looks, and being wrong about her in the past, Harry Potter still couldn't get past Davis' prickly exterior. Granted, that may simply be because they started on the wrong foot, but he was making an effort!

For her part, Tracey wasn't so easy. She didn't exactly get over things very quickly. It was _not_ a trait that she prided herself on and was trying to curb, but old habits and all that...

She was trying to get over Potter's initial prejudice against her, but it was difficult. And she often had lapses without meaning to. Though, she felt she couldn't really be blamed at the moment. Heat had never agreed with her, in spite being a child born in summer. And mornings certainly had never agreed with her.

Besides... she couldn't help it that Potter couldn't understand the extremely dual nature of Slytherins.

After all, just because she wasn't pleasant, friendly and kind to him, didn't mean she was incapable of it.

"So what's our-" Tracey started to ask, modulating her tone so that it was aloof instead of foul-tempered, when she was suddenly struck with a wave of light-headedness. Her arm struck out to the low wall of Harry's cubicle and held on to it as black spots appeared before her vision.

"Are you all right?" Harry asked with his brows lightly furrowed. He stood up immediately and hesitated to put a supportive hand on Tracey's person.

"Yeah, I'm just really light-headed," she replied as she continued to try to blink the black spots away. However, any movement of her head, made it spin and the spots in her vision multiply. She was beginning to feel extremely queasy as her vision faltered to.

Her heart started to beat quicker as a flare of panic shot through her at what the hell was going on her with her sight. Heat, flushed up her neck and cheeks, only worsening the sensation in her stomach, which threatened to make her breakfast of tea and toast reappear.

"It's probably just the heat," she stated, hoping rather fervently that she wasn't pregnant. But she immediately discarded that possibility, as she was always very careful whenever she had sex, and the symptoms weren't quite right. After all, she was queasy from feeling light-headed and hot. Besides, she hadn't had sex in a few months.

"Have you been hydrating properly?" Harry asked with mild concern, aware that because of the intense Heatwave presently being experienced in Britain, that there were more than a few incidents of heat stroke around.

Tracey was about to respond when suddenly her vision cleared and the upset in her stomach quelled. She smiled as she was able to straighten-out, for the moment ignoring the way her skin felt wet with perspiration.

Unfortunately, it was short-lived relief. In an instant, she felt as if her energy were sapped and her muscles turned into jelly before she was consumed by blackness.

xXx

Minerva McGonagall stared down at the young woman across from her.

The young witch with dark hair, was only twenty-six. However, in spite of that, she was quite accomplished. A Potions Mistress of Bronze Class was nothing to sneer at, even if it wasn't the highest class that the Guild of Potions Masters awarded. But for a witch of only twenty-six years, it was very impressive. And in that respect, she was the most qualified for the position, now that Slughorn decided to retire.

"I'm impressed, Miss Farley," Minerva said, to which the young witch offered an impish grin.

Though it had been many years since Minerva had last seen the girl, and though Gemma Farley had been in Slytherin, that did not mean that Minerva did not remember her.

Gemma Farley, as a student, had a very checkered record. While not necessarily a trouble-maker, she was an opinionated and spirited lass. There was no doubt that she was intelligent, but when Severus had put her name forward for Prefect, Minerva had been very doubtful that the girl would take the responsibility seriously.

However, Gemma had proven to not only be a very competent Prefect, but a very fair and responsible one. She would have probably made Head Girl, if her grades and record were as impeccable as Penelope Clearwater's.

"I was in Slytherin for a reason, Professor. And while I may not have been the best in Transfiguration, and been a bit lazy where my other subjects were concerned, I achieve what I set my heart on. And Potions has always been a passion of mine," Gemma grinned.

"You're a bit younger than I'd prefer for the position," Minerva stated with a slight frown.

"Professor Snape was only twenty-one when he started teaching here," Gemma pointed out evenly, causing Minerva to raise a brow. Asking how she knew that, was on the tip of her tongue, but Minerva pushed it aside. It was irrelevant to their purpose.

"And you do not wish to pursue the Silver or Gold class in Potions?" Minerva asked, to which Gemma had a ready answer.

"A Gold Class in Potions has not been awarded to anyone since Professor Snape earned one when he was twenty-four. Professor Snape is a genius where Potions are concerned, and I do not delude myself in believing that I am in the same class. However, I do intend to pursue a Silver Class, but that pursuit may take years and in that time, I want to do something worth my while," Gemma replied in confident tones.

"Working in St. Mungo's was not?" Minerva asked, raising a brow.

"Brewing Potions in their labs, for it's exclusive use, doesn't give one much variation. I can brew to perfection every possible tonic, Potion and anti-venom known to wizards, but it doesn't leave much time to experimenting or working on Potions outside the realm of Healing," Gemma replied with a slight shrug of her shoulders.

"You have no experience teaching," Minerva pointed out.

"I don't think very many, Professors do, before they start. But I did tutor a few students when I attended Hogwarts and I know how to handle trouble-makers," Gemma replied, not at all troubled by the fact that she didn't have experience.

Gemma could see that Professor McGonagall still wasn't very convinced.

"I heard Professor Lupin is working here," Gemma hedged, wondering if she could get an edge. Once she was sure she had Professors attention, she went on delicately. "Is someone brewing the wolfbane potion for him?"

"Professor Slughorn was brewing it," Professor McGonagall replied with tight lips, unsure where Gemma was going with the topic. Though as headmistress, she did have a responsibility towards applicants, in regards to their safety.

"The wolfbane Potion while being exceedingly fastidious to make, is very simple for any Potions Master worth their metal... some of its ingredients are also considered very pricey," Gemma said, with a slight smirk. "As I worked in St. Mungos, I have significant experience with the potion and I can make it in my sleep."

Professor McGonagall looked at Gemma Farley with a sharp gaze over the rim of her glasses. For her part, Gemma merely smiled in turn in a way that was not quite smug, but told McGonagall that Miss Farley knew, she'd won the game.

Minerva sighed. She wasn't fond of many Slytheirns, but she had to admit, she liked Miss Farley's spunk.

**TBC...**

**Please Review!  
**


	2. St Mungo's

**A/n: **Forgot to mention this last chap, but as this is for the Long Haul Competition, this story will be updated weekly. Unless of course I fail out of the competition. So that means weekly updates, probably scheduled for Monday. Unless RL intrudes.

**Prompt:** What do You Mean? (#96)

**Chapter 2:**

**_St._ _Mungo's_**

"Have they told you anything?"

Harry shook his head and looked apologetically at the tall, regal witch before him. Though he'd never met Rowena Davis, he was quite sure, he'd know her anywhere. Like her daughter, the woman was tall, slender with very pale skin and hair that was so vibrantly red, that it was shocking that such a thing be possible when the shade of red was so dark.

"How can they not know anything, it's been hours!" Rowena snapped, before turning her grey and worried eyes to Tracey's prone form on the hospital bed.

It had been three hours since Tracey passed out in the Ministry in Auror Headquarters, she'd barely been able to stay conscious for more then a few minutes at a time and those few minutes, were filled with disorientation and confusion.

At that moment, Harry looked up from where he stood leaning against a wall, as a Healer walked in. He was slightly surprised to find Padma Patil sporting the lime-green robes of St. Mungo's healers.

"What's wrong with my daughter?" Rowena demanded immediately, her icy, grey eyes narrowing on the young witch who jumped.

"Well... her magic is being drained," Padma Patil stated in uncertain tones, treading carefully as the situation, as it was now, was a bit dire. "The kind of drain is the type caused by an old geas. Has Tracey entered into any magically binding contracts that she's not upheld?"

Harry was confused while Rowena answered in the negative.

"Old geas? Contract? What do you mean? How can a- a... _contract_ cause this?!" he questioned, unable to help his frustration.

"It's like..." Padma faltered, unsure how to explain it before her mind came up with the perfect example. "The Goblet of Fire is a very old magical object on which there is a geas, where anyone to put their names in, were entering a binding magical contract. If you had failed to participate Harry, it would have been very likely that in order to satisfy the Geas, your life would've been claimed."

"Is she going to die?" Harry asked, alarmed while Rowena paled from where she stood, clenching onto her daughter's hand.

"If we cannot stop the drain... it is very likely," Padma admitted with a grimace, her dark eyes filling with sincere regret as she looked between the two figures. For a moment, a thick silence hung in the private room where the young Auror was being treated. "But you know what is very strange? An hour or so after Tracey was admitted, another patient came in, also suffering this kind of drain. Considering how rare these kinds of contracts have become, it is highly unusual."

"Who is the other patient?" Rowena couldn't help asking as Harry lost himself in thought. In his line of work, coincidences weren't considered probable.

Padma hesitated in responding, what with patient confidentialities and all. However, one look at the expression on Harry's face, and the fact that he was an Auror and he certainly had the kind of authority to make demands for information, had Padma reconsidering.

"Professor Snape," she stated, causing Harry's brows to shoot into his hairline.

"Severus Snape?" Rowena asked, her thin brows furrowing as bells started to chime in her head.

"Yes," Padma replied. "Somehow he managed to apparate himself here, after passing out for a second time. Unfortunately, that was all we could get out of him before he passed out again. He's been unconscious since."

"You should move him and my daughter into the same room," Rowena stated, her tone vague and aloof. Padma and Harry both turned to the elder witch, but there was a far away look on her face as she absently stroked a few strands of hair from her daughter's face.

"What do you mean?" Padma asked, frowning at the highly unusual and inappropriate demand. Women and men were never put in the same rooms or wards.

"I think... they're both being affected by the same contract... and I think bringing them close to one another will stop the drain, at least for the time being," Rowena elaborated, still in the same, far away tone.

Harry and Padma exchanged a glance, both looking to the other questioningly.

"It couldn't hurt," Padma stated with a shrug, as she and the other Healers were at a complete loss as what to do.

Harry merely shrugged, by way of consent. Padma nodded her head determinedly, before turning on her heel to make arrangements.

"Do you really think that will work?" Harry asked, turning to look at Mrs. Davis.

"If it is what I believe it to be," Rowena replied with a nod of her head, before looking at Harry with a haunted look. "Though I wish for the sake of my daughter's happiness, it were anything else."

xXx

"What the hell happened?" Tracey muttered, feeling a raging headache. She tried to sit up, but was held down by a hand to her shoulder. Tracey felt her heart jump and was about to snap her eyes open and jump away from the unknown person touching her, when her ears were met by familiar tones of her mother, soothing her and telling her to take it easy.

Blinking her pale, greyish-green eyes slowly open, Tracey stared at her mother's face and groaned. "Mum? What are you doing here? Where the hell am I?"

"You're in St. Mungo's, dear. How do you feel?"

Tracey frowned, shutting her eyes and moving a hand to cradle her head. She didn't think her internment in St. Mungos boded well. Especially if her mother was present, and sounded so very concerned that she didn't even bother to rectify Tracey's language.

"Like someone aimed a bludger at my head," Tracey groaned.

"You're very lucky to be alive," another voice piped in. Tracey frowned at the vaguely familiar voice. Opening her eyes slowly once more, she squinted towards the foot of her bed where the voice came from.

Standing there, clad in hideously bright robes, was a witch with tan skin and long, inky-black hair. Eyes as dark as coals looked towards her as full lips lifted into a small smile.

"Padma Patil? You became a Healer?"

"Yes," Padma replied, in a tone that said, _clearly_. Tracey scowled at the Ravenclaw girl, but shoved it and her mother's hand aside.

"What happened?" she asked, trying to get up once more, this time being more slow. She ignored her mother's fussing as she sat hunched, her hair falling in her face as she cradled her head briefly in her hands.

"You experienced a magical drain, caused by an old geas of some kind," Padma replied from where she stood, hands held around a clipboard and a couple of files. "The drain has stopped, and you should be feeling well in no time. However, it is very likely that the drain will return until you have fulfilled the terms of the geas."

"Which would be?" Tracey asked with a frown, completely confused, because as far as she knew, she had not entered into any magical contracts. Especially not one which was life-threatening if she failed to comply.

"I don't know."

"Then why did it stop?" Tracey asked, her tone slightly sharp in her frustration and pain. As far as she knew, magical drains resulting from a geas didn't simply stop for no reason. Usually it meant that it was satisfied, for the time being, at least. Pacified, neutralized, were the terms usually used.

At this, Padma's eyes shifted to Tracey's right. Turning to follow her gaze, Tracey looked questioningly at her mother who was very pale, her lips in a straight-line of discomfort; her grey eyes filled with concern and even dread.

"How come the Professor isn't conscious yet?" Harry asked, startling Tracey, as she'd no idea her partner was even in the room. Whirling around, she was surprised to find him standing close to a second bed in the room.

Tracey furrowed her brow and tried to look at the other patient, but from where she sat, they were hidden from view by a small partition.

"His body doesn't quite... have youth on his side, so it will take him a little longer than Tracey to recover. However, the drain has stopped at the same time as Tracey's, so he should gain consciousness-" Padma didn't get to finish as a groan reverberated through the room.

"I'm so confused. What the hell is going on?" Tracey muttered, running her fingers through her hair before turning to Padma. "And could I get something for this bloody headache?"

"Yes of course," Padma stated, however, she didn't leave the room and instead walked over to the left side of the room to attend to her other patient.

"What's going on mum?" Tracey asked, turning around to look at her mother who she felt was acting very oddly. And what was with the look that Padma had shot to her mother? What could her mother possibly know about this?

"I think... I think that an old contract is coming into effect, but I could be wrong," her mother whispered to her in uncertain and doubtful tones, which was very out of character for the usually obnoxiously confident woman.

Tracey felt her heart start to speed up as she took in how pale her mother looked, and the somewhat panicked expression in her usually calm and collected grey eyes.

"What do you mean?" Tracey asked through gritted teeth, because her head was throbbing with pain that made it hard for her to concentrate.

"I haven't thought of if since I was a girl. I never thought-"

"Professor, you can't leave-" Padma was saying, her voice rising in alarm. Both red-heads turned to take in the scene on the other half of the room where the blankets were shoved almost violently aside and a man dressed all in black emerged. Tracey, who didn't know the day could possibly get any weirder, watched as a familiar figure straightened.

"Oh, I can assure you that I can and will, Miss Patil. You don't even know why this is happening, you think I will continue to place myself in your incompetent hands?" if Tracey wasn't familiar with the figure of the man, that dark and velvety voice was unforgettable and impossible to mistake.

Tracey was so shocked by this new revelation, her eyes wide, that she didn't even notice when her mother had moved from her side and was just in time to stop Snape from marching out of the room.

"You're not going anywhere, Severus. Not with my daughter's life in the balance," Rowena stated, using all her five feet and eleven inches of height in her favor. And while Snape was still taller, it was difficult to deny that Rowena Davis did not make for an intimidating figure, with the fire set in her eyes and the dangerous set to her regal features.

"Rowena... what are you doing here?" Snape asked, stopping in his tracks before his eyes moved towards the bed where Tracey was still sitting, completely dumb-founded. His brow furrowed as he stared at yet another of his ex-students. "Miss Davis?"

"I believe if you step one foot outside this room, you will initiate the drain again, putting not just your life in danger, but my daughter's as well," Rowena explained, causing Snape to turn back to her.

"What are you talking about, Rowena?" Snape asked with little patience.

"Has Healer Patil not explained to you the variety of drain you've experienced? And that it only stopped once you and my daughter were placed in the same room? So it stands to reason if you two part, it will start again, because being in close proximity is what has allayed the geas," Rowena explained with poorly concealed irritation with the man before her.

"What do you know?" Snape asked, eyes narrowing on the witch before him.

"I believe there is a standing contract between our families," Rowena explained through tight lips, casting a look towards Padma Patil and Harry Potter, making it clear she was not comfortable discussing this before them.

A line appeared between Snape's brows as they furrowed and a frown marred his face. Briefly, he looked towards the bed where Tracey still sat, watching with her own grey-green eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"The goblins would know then," Snape stated, his displeasure clear on his face.

Rowena nodded her head, her expression equally severe before turning to look at her daughter with sad eyes.

**TBC...**

**Review please! Feedback would be greatly appreciated.**


	3. Of Princes and Lestranges

**Prompt:** Goblins (#192)

**Chapter 3:**

_**Of Princes and Lestranges**_

Tracey stood behind her mother's chair, arms crossed over her chest and staring with a blank expression at the goblin sitting opposite of them.

It had taken all her Auror training, thus far, to remain perfectly still and retain the information being given. But her nerves were becoming frayed at the edges, and she'd been clutching at her own arms to keep her hands from fussing with her hair or sleeves.

Unfortunately, her lips were not left unmolested by her teeth. By now, her bottom lip felt like it would be going numb.

The question, _why me,_ was being repeated in her head, over and over and over. It was like an endless loop, and it was becoming nonsensical to her. The words were losing their meaning, and she began to wonder if they were even real words anymore.

The standing contract, was made in the early 1800s between an Edward Prince and Galt Lestrange, Snape and Tracey's respective ancestors. It was, of all bloody things, a marriage contract, in which the Lestrange's had hefted a fortune for a member of the Prince family to be joined to one of their own.

However, it seemed that the two families then proceeded to each have nothing but male heirs, leaving the actual marriage part of the contract, unfulfilled.

Eileen Prince was the first female born to either of the families, but she was born at a time, when the Lestrange heir was at least twenty-years her senior and already married and bonded. By the time the next Lestrange heir became eligible, Eileen had long since married Tobias Snape.

Tracey's mother, Rowena, was the first Lestrange female to be born in several generations. But as she was six years older than the next heir to the name of Prince, her mother had married and bonded before Snape ever came of age.

Which left Tracey.

And Snape. _Because Snape didn't bloody marry and I didn't find out about it until it's too fucking late! _Tracey fumed.

The grace period, form the time she was seventeen up to her twenty-second birthday, in which she could have married anyone she wanted, was over.

Well, it wasn't so much a grace period as a loophole, stipulated by both families, that their heirs must be over the age of twenty-two before the marriage. Which Tracey found exceedingly lenient of the two ancient families, all things considered. After all, old pureblood families had no regard for the sentiments of their children where marriages were concerned.

"Okay... so we get married and then after whatever amount of time passes necessary, we just get a divorce, right?" Tracey stated, trying to be practical. Because the only solution she could see, was marriage. Marriage or death, and Tracey didn't particularly feel like dying over a fucking contract after she survived the second greatest war of modern times!

"Unfortunately, Miss Davis, the contract states that a marriage bond is necessitated to fulfill the contract," the goblin, Ragnok, stated, peering at her sharply through a monocle, his teeth showing in what was a creepy leer.

"And there is nothing that can be done?" Tracey's mother asked, because Tracey couldn't open her mouth.

_Marriage bond?! No, these bastards weren't asking of much from their descendents, _Tracey thought indignantly and bitterly.

Without meaning to, her gaze wandered to where Snape stood. Thus far, he'd been silent, with his arms crossed over his chest, content to let the Davis women run the show.

A marriage bond... Tracey only vaguely knew what it entailed, because her parents were bonded. It wasn't a custom that very many people kept nowadays, with their marriages. Usually it was just the old Pureblood families, but for some reason, her parents had done it. Maybe because her mother, in spite of deviating so far from Lestrange's beliefs as she'd even married a muggle-born, couldn't quite shake the belief that_ a marriage without a bonding, was nothing more than a paper marriage. _

Snape wasn't handsome, but Tracey didn't need him to be, to find him attractive. Even at his forty or so years of age, he still looked as he had when she first started school. An amazing feat, when one considered what he'd lived through. Even his hair showed no signs of greying, and Tracey very much doubted that he had enough vanity to bother with dying his hair.

However, Tracey couldn't imagine wanting her soul to be forever connected to _his_. Wasn't sure she wanted to feel his physical absence so tangibly that she couldn't sleep or find peace unless he was near. She didn't want to feel his emotional highs and lows, vibrating inside her with a life of their own. Nor always feel that he was a part of her, pulsing inside her like a vein that could never be severed.

She had a great deal of respect for the man, even when he'd been her Head of House, and before it was revealed what a hero he was. And there was something about him that was attractive. But Tracey didn't know if she could fall in love with him. She wasn't sure _she_ could ever fall in love again, and she was much more doubtful about _his _ability to fall in love again. And the idea of having to spend the rest of her life, bonded to him, made her almost wish she hadn't survived the battle of Hogwarts.

Worst of all, unless she could fall in love with him, she'd never be able to feel that kind of love again. The bond would disable her, make it so that no other man could ever touch her heart again, and that was the truth beneath all the legalities and technicalities.

"I need a drink," Tracey stated lowly, her voice hoarse as she snapped out of her thoughts and strived to hide the tears that were burning her eyes. Her life, as she knew it, was completely over. And whatever was left of it... she wasn't sure if it was really worth living.

"We're not done yet, dear-"

"Mum... in case you haven't been paying attention, there is no other bloody alternative. We bond, or we die. If I'm going to die, or be bonded to the Professor... either way, I think it calls for a drink, probably a lot of drinks!" Tracey snapped, unable to help her temper flaring as she packed up the pain, though she felt like it was an overstuffed suitcase, just waiting to explode.

She turned to move towards the door, when she felt something warm but unyielding gripping her arm. Looking up, she was startled to find that Snape was holding onto her forearm. She was about to snarl at him not to touch her, when he turned and pinned her with an even gaze in his dark and brooding eyes.

"We need to know how to stop the drain," he reminded her cooly, before slowly retracting his arm as she relaxed. "And if there are any other alternatives."

Gritting her teeth, because the man had a point, Tracey turned around and looked at the goblin expectantly.

"You are each welcome to your own copy of the contract, but I can assure you, you have no other alternatives," the goblin informed them, his teeth showing in what was clearly a poorly concealed smile of amusement.

"Is there a way to stop the drain from occurring every time they are not in one another's presence?" Rowena asked, her own temper flaring at the goblin's apparent delight in her daughter's dilemma.

"Of course. A blood sacrifice from the betrothed. It will give you an allotment of three months to make arrangements," the goblin stated, pulling from his desk a quill that was black and thin, with an unusually sharp tip.

For a moment, Tracey panicked. _Three months!_

Stifling the sentiment that threatened to choke her, Tracey forced herself to remain in the present.

Tracey felt her back go tense as she stared at the item that was slid toward them. Her spine became rigid- straighter and harder than any wand- when she locked her eyes on the familiar item.

A Blood Quill was considered a dark, magical item. In the past, it was used to seal contracts as they were literally signed in blood, making the contract fortified with blood magic.

Umbridge's use of the quills in her fifth year as a form of writing lines during detention, while completely sick, was ingenious. And Alecto and Amycus, were content to use it for minor offenses while reserving harsher forms of torture for what they saw as acts of rebellion or sedition. Tracey had been at the mercy of the three psychos at least once.

"You must sign your names," the goblin offered, holding out the quill, his eyes sparkling in expectance.

Tracey moved forward, seeing no alternative, and snatched the quill. She glared at the goblin, knowing the relationship between wizards and goblins had suffered yet another setback due to Voldemort's rule. Though that _thing_ was dead, the repercussions were still felt, like ripples that went on and on. Tracey didn't know when it would all finally settle.

Her generation was left damaged, that was for sure. The world had fractured and broken into pieces, and Tracey wasn't sure if they would be able to put it all together. Or find a way to stop it from ever happening again.

Jaw set, Tracey quickly wrote her name, knowing that it didn't matter if she pressed hard or lightly, it would hurt just the same. But it was better for it to be over in a matter of seconds than to allow it to drag out.

She was at least glad that her name was not very long.

"I want a copy owled to me," Tracey nearly growled as she slammed down the quill.

She only waited long enough to see Snape sign his own name- his face set in stone, his left hand balled into a fist- before she turned and left the office, slamming the door shut behind herself.

"Does your daughter always deal so poorly with stress?" Snape asked as he straightened, once the goblin excused himself to retrieve copies.

Rowena slowly moved her gaze over to the man standing next to her and glared.

"You were her Professor for seven years, did you learn nothing of my daughter in that time?" Rowena asked, her tone sharp as her pride was hammered by his criticism. "I don't think you'd take the news any more gracefully in her position. Finding out on your twenty-second birthday that not only are you being forced into a marriage bond, but your partner is twenty years your senior and spent their entire life, dedicated to an unrequited love they've never gotten over... it's not exactly a romance anyone would dream of."

Snape scowled at Rowena Davis nee Lestrange. The woman was little more than a passing acquaintance he'd encounters a handful of times in his life. In school, she'd been six years ahead of him. But her use of the truth as a weapon, was effective.

He was at a loss of words for a response, but at least saved the embarrassment of conceding to it, by the reentry of the hateful little goblin.

Each armed with their own copy of the contract, Severus and Rowena parted ways, Severus firmly wishing the woman would not become his mother-in-law. He didn't think he could deal with anymore Lestranges.

**TBC...**

**A/n:** Thoughts anyone? I'd really appreciate hearing from anyone reading this...


	4. Raving

**A/n: **If anyone is reading this, please review. Feedback would really be appreciated.

**Prompt:** Rave (#80)

**Chapter 4:**

_**Raving**_

She shouldn't be drinking. Tracey knew that. She'd had enough experience with alcohol to know that she was under no circumstances to get drunk. That was _dangerous_. It made _her_ dangerous.

No inhibitions. No control over her actions. It made her extremely unpredictable, and there was no saying if her anguish would prevail over her built-in defense mechanism of turning such pain into rage. And without any sense of restraint, there was no saying what kind of damage her anger would wreak.

And it was in such moments that it was most apparent that she carried Lestrange genes. Apart from her hair and canines, which could be almost called fangs as they were big or long enough to be noticeable. Though not so much that one could truly take her for a vampire; simply an attribute that was noticeable.

But she told herself, she'd only drink a little. Just to take the edge off after the day she had, and what had been revealed and what _that_ meant for her future.

She would not allow herself to get drunk. And she'd cloistered herself in her little apartment with a bottle of wine, in the hopes that the red wine would give her some peace without causing the damage Firewhiskey could incur.

Tracey sunk into her armchair, allowing the comfortable but old leather to take her in deeply and almost wrap around her like comfort. Hand holding delicately onto the stem of the glass of wine in her hand, she glared at her hearth where a fire was not burning. It was summer, and a bloody hot one to have any such nonsense.

Music blaring through the room, some muggle heavy metal crap that Tracey hoped would allow her to stop thinking, Tracey found herself trying not to think- _why? Why is this happening to me?_

She was tired of the question. Besides that, there was no answer that was forthcoming.

Life simply had no sense. The last several years should have already proved that.

But Tracey felt lost. And she didn't know how much more she could take, or how much more she could endure.

And it didn't help matters that she was so alone. She had no one to turn to. No one she could confide in. She had no friends! No one who could sympathize, no one who would listen to her, no one to give her counsel, or help give her some kind of hope...

The image of her father's warm smile, flitted before her eyes. Daphne's concerned blue gaze intruded mere seconds after, and Tracey felt as if a hand had closed around her throat.

She shook her head, as if that would dispel the images of the dead from her mind. She struggled to breathe through the vice that clenched around her chest.

Throwing her head back, shutting her eyes, she told herself to think of her training. She pushed herself into bottling away those painful thoughts and memories. To shove away the grief she'd been ignoring now for three years.

Seven years of Slytherin, and three years of Auror training had rendered her more than an adequate Occlumens. It wasn't long before she felt a sense of calm, and her breathing returned to normal. The pain that constricted her throat passed, and she was able to raise her glass to her lips and take a deep drink from it.

Leaning her head back once more, allowing her long limbs to relax into her armchair once more, she stared at the ceiling. She wanted to let her mind wander, but she knew that her thoughts wouldn't be able to stray far from the events of that morning. To the crushing hopelessness she felt at the thoughts of being tied to...

Snape.

Her eyes shut as she thought of the man who'd once been her Potions Master. Her Head of House. Before he ever became Headmaster. Before it was even revealed that he was a spy for Dumbledore, and spent his life devoted to the memory of a woman, whom's legacy he promised to protect.

Snape had been an intimidating figure, even for her, when she was a first year. But she'd also been in awe of him, like the other first years of her house.

The man was powerful. He was fearsome. And for some reason, it was so easy to give him respect for that alone. But more than that, it quickly became apparent, that every Slytherin was _his_. And that he protected what was _his_. Not simply from other houses, but from other snakes, and even from themselves.

Tracey's interactions with the man, prior to her fifth year, were marginal. She neither excelled, nor was disastrous in his class. And she'd never really gotten much attention from the other Professors, even in the classes where she _did_ excel. Tracey simply... preferred to melt into the background... to merely observe.

In fact, she was quite sure the first time the man ever spoke directly to her was in her second year- after the first message from the "Heir of Slytherin" appeared on the wall on Halloween. It wasn't long after that, that Draco chose to reveal to anyone who cared, that Tracey was a half-blood whose father was a muggle-born wizard.

The weeks that followed, Tracey suffered in silence as she was subjected to bullying. Daphne tried to help, by trying to keep Tracey company so that she wouldn't be so vulnerable by being alone. She'd even gone to Gemma to report the bullying. That helped to an extent, as Gemma threatened everyone that bullying would be reported promptly to Professor Snape. Which... she had.

Snape had been astonishingly... calm and non-threatening. He'd refrained from being derisive and cruel to her. His disdain had been absent. And while the man was still sardonic... she'd at least felt that she needn't fear coming to him with real issues she had trouble handling.

However, just because she respected the man, didn't mean she thought him marrying material.

Grimacing, Tracey reached for her glass and was astonished when she'd found she'd already drained it. Frowning, she contemplated getting up to pour herself another when her hearth suddenly flared green.

Jumping to her feet, wand at the ready, Tracey found herself furrowing her brow. The only person who had access to her floo was her mother and she sincerely hoped she didn't have to face her mother so soon. She'd only left the damn bank a mere hour ago.

However, her grey-green eyes widened as she saw just who stepped out of the grate, causing her to lower her wand marginally.

"Gemma?" Tracey asked, completely astonished as the older, dark-haired witch started to dust off the soot from her emerald-green robes.

"Hey cuz," Gemma smiled, though, they weren't really cousins. More like second-cousins, as Gemma's father and Tracey's mother were first cousins.

Tracey couldn't help the small smile that lifted her lips. "I thought you were in Switzerland doing an apprenticeship to get a Masters classification for Potions! When did you get back? How did you floo here?"

Gemma giggled lightly before approaching the younger witch, throwing her arms about the astonished girl; Tracey barely had the mental capacity to return the hug.

"You've gotten taller than me!" Gemma exclaimed as she pulled away, the top of her head falling just level with Tracey's eyes, her warm brown eyes sparkling happily. "And I earned my Bronze Class just last month. I've been looking for work since then. And I just got back to England last night. I would have visited sooner, but I had so much unpacking to do, and then I had an interview this morning. OH... and I just came from your mum's, I thought you'd be there..."

Gemma trailed off uncertainly, as Tracey's eyes glazed over slightly. Tracey hadn't returned to her family home since the Battle of Hogwarts at least. She just couldn't go back there... to a place so full of memories of her father.

"But anyway, your mum sent me over here," Gemma went on, glazing over what she knew was an extremely difficult topic for her cousin and she mentally cursed herself for not being more sensitive.

"So you had an interview?" Tracey asked, wanting to move on and not think about anything heavy, motioning Gemma to the couch before joining her on the black chesterfield and flicking her wand at her radio, turning down the loud music. "Where? How did it go?"

"At Hogwarts actually. And it went great! I got the job," Gemma smiled, her eyes bright with her joy.

Tracey raised a brow and couldn't help smirking. "Let me guess, Potions?" at the head nod, she went on, "Slughorn is retiring then?"

"So it would seem," Gemma stated before throwing her arms around Tracey, who was shocked. While she and Gemma were close, the years since the older girl had left school made their relationship harder as it was limited to correspondence which of course had to come to a stop during the last year or so of the war. After the war finally ended, Gemma still found it easier to remain in Switzerland than returning for family gatherings that Tracey didn't even bother to attend herself.

"What was that for?" Tracey asked as Gemma pulled away.

"Because it's your birthday! Besides, I didn't get to give you a proper congratulations when you passed your Auror Qualification exams," Gemma replied with a roll of her eyes, as if that should have been obvious. Before reaching into her pockets and pulling out a present wrapped in aquamarine, festive wrappings. "Here, think about this as a belated congratulatory present and birthday present."

"You shouldn't have Gem," Tracey said with a slight frown as she took the long, slender box, though she couldn't help raising a brow at it.

"Oh, it's nothing," Gemma replied, before grinning widely. "Now open it!"

Tracey sighed, but couldn't help smiling in turn and ripping the wrappings. Her eyes widened as she stared at the contents of the box, finding a sparkly, bright purple, somewhat clear, phallic object.

"You got me a dildo! What the hell Gem!" Tracey cried scandalized and amused, as she shoved Gemma on her shoulder.

"It's more of a vibrator," Gemma pointed out before going in mock-seriousness, "It's a must have for all chronically single women."

Tracey shoved at Gemma once more, unable to help laughing. "You're one to talk, I don't hear about you having any steady boyfriends!"

"Which is why I have one myself! Mine is cobalt blue. I named it Rave, cause it feels like a fantastic party in my pants!" Gemma grinned impishly, showing off all her straight, pearly-white teeth.

"Ugh, Gemma! That's too much bloody info!" Tracey cried, shoving at the older girl once more as she doubled over with laughter. Gemma joined her, giggling as Tracey finally calmed down enough to set the present on her coffee table. "I'm glad you're here Gem," Tracey said finally, as they managed to begin to come down from their giggle fit, her eyes taking on the anguish she felt before Gemma came and brightened her day.

"Uh oh. I don't like that look," Gemma said with a slight frown of concern as she took in Tracey's face, the way the smile slipped so easily from her raspberry-colored lips and the way her eyes dulled significantly, taking a pained expression. "What's going on?"

"My mum didn't mention anything to you?" Tracey asked, not sure if she could explain it.

Gemma shook her head, though her mind started to wonder. She _had_ thought that Aunt Rowena looked a bit off. Not that the woman really was her aunt, but Gemma had called her Aunt Ro for as long as she could remember.

Tracey sighed and ran a hand through her hair before standing up to retrieve her glass of wine. Well she did want someone to talk about it with, Tracey thought.

"Want one?" grey-green eyes flicked to Gemma where she still sat on the couch, one leg tucked under her and still facing the seat Tracey vacated.

Gemma hesitated, thinking it was far too early for alcoholic beverages. It was barely going to be noon. However, she nodded her head as she studied the tall, slender girl with skin as fair as snow whom appeared so hopeless.

Tracey turned away to retrieve another glass, before pouring generous portions of red-wine in each glass. Taking careful steps, she returned to the couch, handing over a glass to Gemma before sitting down, raking her hand through her hair once more and releasing a heavy sigh.

"It would appear that the Lestranges have a standing marriage contract with the Princes, which falls to me to fulfill. I have three months to marry and be bonded to the remaining Prince heir," Tracey reported emotionlessly, her tone only marginally bitter as she drank deeply from her glass.

Gemma stared wide-eyed and horrified at Tracey, all trace of mischief now gone from her person. "You have to get married?! To who?!"

"None other than our beloved ex Head of House, Severus fucking Snape," Tracey replied sardonically, before draining her glass.

"And there is nothing you can do?" Gemma asked, her tone becoming moderate though she was still frowning. While she greatly respected and admired her Head of House, that didn't mean she didn't see where Tracey was coming from. And in her shoes, Gemma wasn't sure how she would be take such news.

"The goblin said there was no getting out of it," Tracey nearly spat, setting her glass aside so she wouldn't end up breaking the stem in her anger and cutting herself. "Mum, Snape and I will probably all bend over backwards to find a way out of it, but I very much doubt the goblin was lying to us. There probably _isn't_ a way out of it."

"Well you always were a bit of a pessimist. Don't give up hope, Trace. I'm sure that there must be something that can be done."

Tracey scoffed but didn't respond. She was about to rise to pour herself more wine when Gemma's hand grasped onto her arm.

"Come on. I'm not going to let you sit here and wallow. You need to get your mind off it," Gemma said before setting her own wine glass aside and standing up. "Come on, you're coming shopping with me. There is crap I'm going to need if I'm going to start teaching."

Tracey looked over Gemma's robes which were very form fitting. Gemma had an hourglass figure, and Tracey was certain that all Gemma's clothes highlighted this fact.

"Like robes that will cover your ravine-like cleavage?" Tracey teased.

"Don't be envious that tit-fairy was so generous with me," Gemma stated before raking her eyes over Tracey's long legs that led to hips that were fuller than was strictly proportionate to her slender figure. They weren't so full that they were comically disproportionate, but they were shapely and very nice. "Besides, you were extremely blessed by the arse fairy."

As if to emphasize her point, she slapped Tracey's round, pert arse. Tracey felt heat curse up her neck as she turned to smack Gemma on her arm. For a few minutes, the two girls proceeded to play slap at each other's arms before erupting into giggles.

"Okay! Enough dawdling! Let's go!" Gemma cried through her giggles, thrusting an arm into the air and pointing to the floo. Tracey rolled her eyes, chucking off her robes and thrusting her wand into her hair, where she used it to knot her hair in a bun.

"Fine! Let's go!"

xXx

Tracey didn't know how Gemma found these places. Standing against the bar, her elbow leaning on it as she nursed some muggle cocktail called a redheaded slut. For some reason, because Tracey had such dark-red hair, Gemma was amused ordering it for her.

Tracey was tired. After having spent an entire day in the damn heat, shopping with Gemma, they finally stopped sometime around dinner when Gemma finally tired of being fitted for robes appropriate for teaching. Tracey rolled her eyes at how picky the girl with long, brunette hair was about what she put on her body.

After dinner, they'd decided to go to a muggle cinema (Tracey was amazed by the films ability to turn off her brain so spectacularly) before Gemma introduced Tracey to the muggle night-life. Though, how Gemma knew of the night-life in London was beyond Tracey, as Gemma had spent almost a decade out of the country.

However, Tracey was at least content that the blaring, up-tempo music and the roar of so many people talking and laughing, kept any dark thoughts at bay. While not necessarily Tracey's scene, as she wasn't an out-going person, she found relief in the semi-dark, flashy, and crowded atmosphere. It was rather nice, not having to think, and having her mind occupied simply by looking at what was occurring around her.

Searching the crowd on the dance floor, deciding to check on her relative, she found the older girl dancing with three men with a broad smile on her face. Tracey narrowed her gaze on the men dancing with Gemma, her Auror vigilance constant as she assessed whether or not they were a threat to Gemma whose wand was tucked between her breast, hidden by the valley of her cleavage in the corset like top she wore with her little black mini-skirt.

However, seeing that the men were kept in check and not touching her "cousin" in a way that sent off warning bells, Tracey allowed her gaze to skim the crowd.

She was still wearing the small, jean-shorts from the morning, with her same, plain top. Her own wan was now tucked down the front of her shorts where she could retrieve if easily in case of an emergency, and stuck to them with a light sticking charm that would release if she pulled her wand.

Her gaze did a double-take as she passed over a slender, freckly, red-head that seemed familiar to her. Narrowing her gaze, she furrowed her brow as she spotted the girl that was dancing in clothes very similar to Tracey's own outfit, but this girl's hair was ginger instead of the deep red of Tracey's own tresses.

Is that... _Ginny Weasley_? Tracey wondered as she got off the bar and leaned slightly forward. From the distance and the swaying mass, it was difficult for her to see the girl, whose arms were looped around a dark-skinned male as they danced very closely. It wasn't until the witch moved her hair to allow her neck to breathe, that Tracey caught her profile and felt her eyes widening.

In spite of the strobing lights, the swaying people, and the space between them, Tracey would recognize the younger girl anywhere. Her partner had a picture of the chit tacked up in his cubicle, and as Tracey witnessed how intimately the girl was dancing with a man that was certainly not Potter, she felt her stomach tangling itself.

Was the Weaslette cheating on her partner? And was she morally obligated to inform the guy, if that were the case?

For a while, Tracey continued to observe the strangely intimate pair, only for them to disappear.

Frowning, Tracey wasn't really sure what to think.

**TBC...**

Is anyone reading this? It'd be nice to have feedback.


	5. Steel Traps

**Prompt:** Blood (#507)

**Chapter** **5:**

_**Steel Traps**_

Severus sat up at his desk, his eyes tired. Sitting back into his high-backed chair, he propped his elbows on the arms of his chair as he pinched the bridge of his nose. His eyes stung and he briefly rubbed them in the hopes of alleviating the discomfort.

He'd been studying the damn contract since he'd arrived home. He hadn't moved the length of the day and well into the night as he poured over every word of the contract. By now, he'd been through the thing almost a dozen times, and he could not find a single thing that would get him out of his present predicament.

A sigh escaped his lips as he realized he may actually have to find professional help. Someone with loads of experience with contracts and legalities, which left a bitter taste in his mouth.

He didn't like the idea of asking _anyone_ for help. And he didn't particularly care for anyone learning of his predicament.

Since the end of the war, it was difficult to determine where exactly he stood in wizarding society. The die-hard followers of the Dark Lord that managed to escape death or imprisonment during the final battle, were out for his blood. Even Lucius Malfoy, who'd managed to remain relatively unscathed by the conclusion of the war, was extremely prickly towards Severus.

Not that Severus had many occasions to frequent Lucius' society or cared for the older man's opinions of him. They'd never exactly been bosom buddies, even if Lucius was the closest thing he had to a _friend_. But that had always been merely a matter of convenience.

To say the least, Severus preferred to abstains from all wizarding society, except for very few exceptions. After his trial, which left him a free man exonerated of all crimes thanks to the damn Potter boy, Severus had retired into seclusion.

He didn't want any part of the fame that was now attached to his name, he hadn't even cared when he'd been awarded an Order of Merlin, first class. The fact that so many now knew of his... reasoning for changing sides, well it was almost enough to shame him into becoming a complete hermit.

Severus had always been supremely private. And as much as he'd wanted fame and fortune when he was young, his sentiments had changed long ago. To see his name printed in those rags perpetuated throughout their world, was merely another peeve added to the extremely lengthy list of things he loathed.

Running a hand over the old wound on his neck that still caused him pain, Severus contemplated with a grimace the fact that, nothing in his life ever went well. The fact that he survived the war was proof of that. Not that Severus had a death wish, but he really hadn't expected to live through the war.

It was this truth, that forced Severus thoughts where he'd previously not allowed them to tread.

Tracey Davis.

He'd given this particular student no more thought than any other student. In fact, it was quite possible that of all his Slytherins from Potter's year, she was one of those that he had to deal with the least.

So what did he truly know of the girl?

She was the daughter of Rowena Lestrange; the niece of Rodolphous and Rabastan.

He was quite certain that her father, whose name he did not know, was amongst the group of Aurors that arrested him during the first war when he was twenty-one. A rookie Auror, only a few years older than himself at the time. Tall, lean, and though quiet enough to fade into the background, Severus was certain that the man was responsible for his fair treatment by the older, more seasoned Aurors.

When he'd been dragged into the Auror offices, Severus was even sure he'd seen the man approach Rowena, who was carrying an infant in her arms.

Running a hand over his face, Severus thought with a frown that he might've seen Tracey Davis when she was a baby. And the idea that he was twenty-one when she was still small enough to be carried in the arms of her mother, deeply disturbed him, and he was glad that the memory was so old, that it was fuzzy and he didn't recall any details of the small child.

Unfortunately, he had memories of prepubescent Tracey Davis; though, his memories of her were scant.

In her second year, she suffered in silence the bullying she was subjected to because her father was a muggle-born wizard.

In her fifth year during her career advice meeting, she informed him of her intention to become an Auror, like her father.

She _did_ fulfill her dream. Not that Severus was surprised. The girl was bright, and though not the best student, she'd pushed herself to get the scores she required. She was determined, he supposed; not an attribute that was in short supply in Slytherin, even if Severus hadn't suspected the girl of being in possession of it. Though, really, she was lucky Slughorn took over Potions when he did, as Severus didn't think he would have made an exception for the girl if he'd still been teaching Potions that year.

In her sixth year, she was the only girl in her dorm capable of keeping her head on the night of Millicent Bulstrode's suicide attempt, and fetched him in time to save the other girl's life. She showed great mental fortitude under extreme duress, a quality that would continue to serve her well in the year to come.

In the summer before her seventh year, she and Daphne Greengrass were abducted form the Parkinson's estate and taken to Malfoy Manor where she was kept prisoner until the start of her seventh year.

Under the Cruciatus, administered in turns by Rodolphous and Bellatrix Lestrange, Tracey refused to break and give up the location of her mother and father. However, the extensive torture weakened her mental defenses and she'd had no hope of withstanding the Dark Lord, who picked from her mind that her mother was in hiding in the unplottable, Lestrange ancestral home whose wards were altered so that Rowena's brothers could not gain entry, that her father was on the run and that Tracey did not know of his location.

The girl had been forced to bear witness to the torture and later the murder of her best friend.

Here Severus paused, leaning back and shutting his eyes at the sting of guilt that now coursed through him.

Severus couldn't save Daphne Greengrass. There was nothing he could do to save his student. The Dark Lord had deemed her weak and useless; of better use to send a message, with her death, to her family and so forcing the neutral family into finally choosing a side.

Tracey Davis was released and allowed to return to Hogwarts, much to the astonishment of not just Severus, but to Rodolphous, Rabastan and Bellatrix.

Apparently, the Dark Lord saw potential in Tracey Davis. He was impressed by her strength, and saw use for her in the future. Of course, it was contingent on fealty, which the girl must've been capable of at least pretending. No small feat for a seventeen-year-old who'd been put through such torment.

She played her part well in her seventh year... to a degree. She refused to perform the cruciatus on anyone younger than fifteen, which earned her a handful of detentions with Amycus Carrow. However, Severus wasn't concerned that Amycus would cross the line with Tracey Davis. Amycus feared Rodolphous and Rabastan too much to incur either of their wrath. And while there were no particular warm feelings between niece and uncles, Rodolphous was still possessive of every member of his family. And if the Dark Lord was willing to give his niece a chance, then Rodolphous was willing to extend what he thought of as his favor upon the girl.

The Lestrange brothers were a twisted set of work, to be sure.

Rodolphous was a domineering and possessive sadist, with sufficient control not to irreparably break what he played with if he didn't want to. In spite of the years he spent in Azkaban, his mental state hadn't changed the least out of that particular set of prisoners.

For Rabastan's part, ever the submissive and nervous lackey of his brother, Azkaban had been difficult. He was far more unhinged than either Rodolphous or Bellatrix upon their escape. Though, Rodolphous kept him in line. It seemed that habits drilled into one since early childhood, even when one's mental state is deteriorated, cannot be forgotten.

It was hard to say which of the two Lestrange brothers was more dangerous. Rodolphous, who appeared as if carved from stone and was just as unfeeling, or reedy Rabastan who was as deranged as he was broken.

Rodolphous liked to play a game with his disposable victims. He'd gather them in groups of four, with Bellatrix and Rabastan watching as reinforcement so their captives would not escape, and he would cast the Cruciatus on the victims simultaneously, in increments of precisely ten seconds. He'd give them reprieves of thirty seconds, before casting the curse again, each time increasing the amount of time they were under by precisely ten seconds.

He'd drive each person mad, keeping tabs as to whose mind would break first. The victim who remained sane the longest, he gave over to Bellatrix or Rabastan, depending on whom he felt earned the privilege.

The longest this game had ever lasted, as far as Severus knew, was approximately forty minutes.

For Rabstan's part, he enjoyed getting up close and personal with his victims. And he loved blood. He liked to toy with it, practically bathed himself in it, and on the occasion where the blood came from a pureblood witch whom he found attractive, he would even imbibe it.

Rabastan took some kind of sick joy out of the legend that his family plagued the world with vampires. That the curse of vampirism, was modeled and influenced by a wizard from the old family.

Severus didn't know if any of this was true. But he felt that it any one family could be the cause for vampirism, the Lestranges certainly seemed as if they would fit the bill. Their blood-red hair and abnormally long and sharp looking canines, that were dominant traits in the family, certainly lent themselves to such a myth.

And now he was supposed to marry someone from this very unstable line.

Severus ran a hand through his hair in frustration and mentally shuddered. The Lestrange family had a certain reputation for dangerous and unstable individuals, for even longer than even the Black family.

Rowena was normal, he thought. Sure, he didn't know the woman too well, but he'd never even heard anyone insinuate that she was in any way damaged, excepting of course the fact that she'd married a muggle-born. But Severus didn't view that in a negative light.

Tracey Davis' father was an Auror. And Tracey had never displayed any of the signs of abuse. Severus knew because he kept a sharp eye out for these signs in his students.

She was perfectly normal, as far as he knew and he had every hope that her blood was diluted enough not to carry the trait of insanity.

He knew or deduced that she was intelligent, determined, competent, and strong if he took into account all that she'd suffered. She was capable of making friends, had to have some moral code though he didn't know of the parameters.

But...

The girl _had_ been taken prisoner and tortured at intervals for weeks. Her mind attacked on more than one occasion. She'd witnessed her best friend be tortured and murdered right before her eyes. She'd fought in the final battle. Her father had fallen, he believed, during the final battle. She'd been to numerous trials...

Severus didn't know how the girl not only managed to survive with her mind intact, but was deemed stable enough to become an Auror.

Her mind had to be some kind of steel-trap that could rival even his own. Or Rodolphous'... seeing as the man survived Azkaban so well...

**TBC...**


	6. Friends

**Prompt:** In Spite Of... (#191)

**Chapter 6:**

_**Friends**_

"_Why does life have to be so complicated?" Tracey griped where she lay on the floor of the empty common room. Which was oddly better lit than normal. The ceiling was gone too, as were the green lamps that hung from it on chains. _

"_Because if it weren't, you'd never learn from it, or grow. And there is no life without growth," came the calm, amused reply of a voice she'd known so well. _

_Tracey felt her face twist. "When did you become such a wise philosopher?"_

_Daphne shrugged from where she was seated on the black, leather chesterfield, drawing Tracey's gaze away from the ceiling which resembled more the ceiling of the forrest... all branches, foliage and warm sunlight trying to penetrate through the mass of green leaves. _

_Seventeen and beautiful. That was Daphne, with soft, blonde curls of spun gold, and fair skin. She had warm, hazel eyes. How anyone could think of Daphne as an Ice Queen was a mystery to Tracey. But then, she supposed that outside of a handful, no one knew the real Daphne. Not like she knew her._

_Although, that was the modus operandi of Slytherins in general. People only got to know their mask, the persona they played for the public. If anyone saw beneath the mask... that depended on the individual Slytherin. _

_Tracey was allowed beneath Daphne's mask for the public. And though Daphne might not have wanted, Tracey saw through to her heart. _

"_Are you going to tell him?" Daphne asked. _

_Tracey turned away from looking Daphne. It hurt her eyes, like staring directly into the sun. _

"_I don't know... for all I know, Weasley might have just been having a good time dancing and there was nothing more than that to it," Tracey replied, running her fingers through her hair._

"_Come on, Trace. This is a Gyffindor we are talking about. They know nothing of subterfuge. They are precisely what they appear," Daphne pointed out, still sounding so damn amused._

_Tracey crossed her arms over her chest, mentally cursing her friend in her head. She had a point. Daphne usually did. She'd always been very bright and reasonable. _

_Turning away from her friend, she stared at the carpet beneath her for a moment, staring at the emerald pattern against the dark grey and wondered if the carpet in the common room had really had a pattern to it. She couldn't remember anymore. _

"_What are you going to do about Professor Snape?" _

"_If there is no out? Marry him, what choice do I have?" Tracey said with a shrug of her shoulders of resignation. Though, she felt vaguely sick at the thought and turned on her side, to curl around her stomach. _

"_You should give yourself a chance with him," Daphne suggested to which Tracey merely snorted in response. "He'll never hurt you like Theo did."_

_Tracey felt her heart pulse as something changed. She knew Daphne was still reclining on a couch behind her. But in front of her the hearth disappeared. The fire along with it, replaced by a dark wall and she watched distantly as a door opened and she watched herself come through it, running and in panic. The ghost of her paused in the entry-way, eyes large and searching._

_Before she could take a step to the left, her arm was caught and she was forced to turn around as Theo suddenly loomed over her, his grey eyes crazed as he snarled something inaudible at her. _

"_You're hurting me," Tracey said, just as the other Tracey mouthed the words, struggling to get away from Theo. Tracey flinched as Theo smacked the memory of her, sending her smaller body crashing to the ground with the force of the slap. She watched as the ghost of her that had just fallen, whirled around and started crawling backwards in both fear and astonishment, her eyes filling with tears. _

_Theo, seemingly coming out of his stupor of psychotic rage at his own violence, started to apologize as tears ran down his face. _

"_The slap didn't hurt so much," Tracey commented in a whisper and distantly as she slowly sat up, watching with sad eyes as the scene continued to unfold. "What hurt was that he'd actually crossed the line. Up to that moment, I still thought I could save him. The war tore him apart and I couldn't mend him."_

"_It isn't your fault, Tracey. You did everything you could. You're not selfish because you did the right thing, and saved yourself," Daphne stated comfortingly, putting a hand on Tracey's shoulder. But the sensation was so light, it may as well not have been there. _

"_I miss you so much... I can't go through this alone," Tracey admitted randomly, confessing quietly to her lap._

"_You're not alone, Tracey. I'm here, I will always be here for you."_

"_This is a dream, Daph!" Tracey stated exasperatedly, turning away form the ugly scene that hurt her heart and looking at her friend with something akin to desperation. _

"_So? Why does that make this any less real?"_

Tracey awoke rather groggily. Turning on her back, she ran a hand over her face, wondering why her heart hurt as her dreams slipped away form her mind like water through her fingers.

She frowned when she thought that Theo and Daphne had both featured in her dreams, but shoved that away. She wouldn't think of them. Not anymore. She couldn't. It simply hurt too much.

Rising out of bed with a scowl, she quickly cast a tempus, before realizing that it was Saturday and she had the day off. Tracey thanked whatever entities existed for that small mercy. She didn't really feel up to seeing Harry and having him asking her how things had gone after she'd left St. Mungo's with Snape.

"Now what the hell am I supposed to do with my day?" she wondered.

However, she didn't have to wonder for long after she'd finished with her morning routine. Pulling her damp hair into a bun, she was distracted from her thoughts on what to eat for breakfast, by the sound of tapping on her window.

There was an owl with a scroll of parchment attached to it's leg and an official Gringotts seal. The owl did not remain long after she'd untied the scroll from it's leg and took off very soon after, without waiting for a scrap of food.

_Well, I suppose I can look this over_, Tracey thought with a grimace, settling in her small kitchen to read. However, she hadn't gotten even halfway through the first paragraph when she found the words all blurring together in a incomprehensible slur.

She found the language complex, prolix and completely tedious. Putting her head in her hands and glaring at the parchment, she wondered how anyone could stand to read legal papers.

She trudged on, valiantly, but found that thought she understood the gist, she did not grasp enough to be able to find any loopholes that would help her. And the parchment was well over two feet long with very small writing.

_Salazar's hairy arse, _Tracey cursed mentally, banging her head a few times against the kitchen table. _I'm going to need a professional, _she thought with a grimace,_ And a damn good one at that_.

Unfortunately, she didn't know where to even start looking for one. Much less one that would be discreet in handling the matter. And she'd cut and burned so many bridges in Slytherin.

_I'm so fucked!_

xXx

"And what time did you get in last night, young lady?"

Gemma smiled sheepishly at her Aunt as she sat opposite of her, after fixing herself a plate for breakfast.

"Well let's put it this way, it was hardly dark enough to be considered night anymore," Gemma replied cheekily before digging heartily into her breakfast. "I really appreciate you letting me stay here, Aunt Ro," Gemma added after swallowing her first bite, and once her aunt's slight chuckle had subsided.

"It's nothing, darling. Your father is being absurd. I simply don't understand how your father can continue to be so bullheaded," Rowena said with a shake of her head.

Andrew Farley was by far one of the most stubborn men she'd ever met. It wasn't a surprise his wife had divorced him, it was a surprise she lasted as long as she did with him. And still, the man drove away his only daughter simply because he did not agree with her choice of career.

Gemma merely shrugged easily, completely unconcerned about her relationship with her father. They'd never exactly been close.

"How did you find, Tracey?" Rowena asked, her mind now turning to where it never strayed far from, especially now.

"You know, Tracey. She will avoid anything that has the potential to upset her," Gemma replied before wincing at just how callous he statement sounded. Looking carefully, she found her Aunt's eyes fixated on the china.

"Yes, I know," Rowena replied in vague tones. Tracey had refused to come home after the war. Rowena supposed she could understand that, Tracey had been very close to her father and this house was filled with memories of him. And Tracey had always had difficulty expressing pain or sadness. Rowena couldn't even recall the last time she'd witness her daughter cry and couldn't help thinking that she was in some way responsible for that.

xXx

"So... to what do I owe the visit?" Narcissa asked, once the niceties were done away with.

Severus didn't respond right away as he carefully sipped from his tea and looked with disinterest at the garden. As it was such a nice day, Narcissa was up to entertaining guests on her patio while Lucius continued sulking in his study.

"I find myself in need of someone with a great deal of experience with..." Severus paused, debating how much he wanted to reveal. However, he imagined Narcissa would try to weasel it out of him sooner or later, and he had always had Narcissa's good-will due to his looking after her son at Hogwarts. As far as friends and trust went, Narcissa was the closest to having either of those things from him. "Marriage contracts; someone discreet."

A blonde brow arose at his statement.

"And why do you find yourself in need of someone with such skills?" Narcissa asked, her tone carefully neutral.

"Because it would seem my ancestors have saddled me with a bride whom I have no desire to... _marry_," Severus responded, bitter vitriol entering his tone as he sat back to glare at a purple Iris.

Narcissa sat back, her hands clasped in her lap, trying to get over the shock and compose herself. Reaching for her tea, she carefully sipped from it before setting her cup down carefully.

"And who, may I ask, is your intended?" Narcissa asked, careful to keep any teasing from her tone. Though, a part of her couldn't help feeling somewhat amused by the situation. As much as she may like Severus in spite of his low-breeding and surly disposition, she couldn't help finding some mirth at his situation, perhaps _because_ he was so prickly. And it was hard to picture him doing anything quite so human and even sentimental as getting _married_.

"One of Draco's classmates, Tracey Davis," Severus replied through tight-lips after looking at Narcissa suspiciously, detecting a hint of amusement in her tone when she'd asked.

A slight frown marred Narcissa's brows, all under the watchful gaze of Severus. She seemed to grow paler, in spite of the sun that reflected on them.

_So the name rings a bell?_ He found himself wondering, but kept himself from voicing. Considering he was asking her for help, he knew it was better to steer clear of their recent past unless Narcissa brought it up.

"I see," Narcissa stated, raising a brow, her face carefully cavalier. "You know, many men would consider themselves lucky, in your shoes. Not only because your intended is young, but also exceedingly attractive."

Severus felt himself grimace, though he couldn't bring himself to disagree. It would have been a lie. The Lestrange family wasn't _only_ known for it's deranged members; he had yet to meet a Lestrange that was not considered good-looking. Tracey Davis was no exception, perhaps because her father was also what the world would consider handsome.

However, Severus didn't make it a habit to check-out his students. Objectively, he knew which ones would be considered by the world as aesthetically pleasing to the eye and which ones would be considered plain or homely.

Tracey Davis was, objectively, a very pretty witch. Beautiful even. But for his part, it made no difference to Severus. She was his student only three years prior. She was far too young, even if he did desire a relationship. But he had no intention to ever be romantically involved with _anyone_. As far as he was concerned, that ship sailed over two decades ago.

"I'm not marrying one of my students," Severus said in low voice, his tone brooking for no argument. "Can you help me or not?"

Narcissa icily looked Severus over before sighing. "Of course, Severus. I shall notify Harrison Novak, he's really the best. Expect to hear from him before the week is out."

"Thank you, Narcissa," Severus drawled.

"What's a small favor between old friends?" Narcissa smiled. Severus didn't reply, merely choosing to take a sip of his tea. Though, if he were keeping score, he was quite certain that the Malfoy's owed him far more than he owed them and they were all aware of it.

**TBC...**


	7. Unexpected Guests

**Prompt:** House Guests (#308)

**Chapter 7:  
_Unexpected Guests_**

Sunday morning, Tracey proceeded into the Auror offices, grumbling mentally to herself about the early hour and the god forsaken heat as she dragged her feet.

Unfortunately, no matter how much she'd have liked to forget about Friday's ordeal, she couldn't put it far from her mind and even the hour and the season's weather couldn't distract her for long.

Before she could make it into her cubicle, Tracey jumped when her partner popped up right in front of her. She'd been so busy, lost in her thoughts, that it literally seemed like he'd popped out of thin air. Which, of course, wasn't possible. You couldn't apparate directly into the Auror Headquarters.

"You're okay! I was worried, after you left the hospital," Potter said, giving her a look over before averting his gaze as he realized that Tracey's attire was similar to Friday's and still showing more skin than he was strictly comfortable with.

However, Tracey didn't pay this mind as she continue to worry her lip.

"So... did you figure out what was going on?" Harry plowed on, trying to skate over the brief, awkward silence.

"Yeah," Tracey responded, running her hand through her hair as she stepped into her cubicle and fell into her chair. "That's sorted. Kind of," Tracey replied, leaning back in her chair and propping her elbow up on her desk. She focused her gaze on Harry for a moment before speaking. "You wouldn't happen to know anyone with lots of experience cracking contracts, do you?"

Harry furrowed his brow in response. "No... why do you ask?"

Tracey paused, considering whether or not to she really wanted to share her predicament with a co-worker. But as Harry was supposed to be her partner, someone whom she was supposed to trust to watch her back... she thought if there was anyone she could trust, it would have to be him. Besides, being who he was, it might come in handy. And she never knew if Harry would need to be privy to this particular development, somewhere down the line.

Pulling Harry further into her cubicle by his robe and pulling out her wand simultaneously, she cast a privacy before proceeding to tell Harry what this was all about.

"Snape?" Harry finally said when she'd finished. "You have to marry Snape," he said, so slowly that there was a pause after each word. As if he couldn't really believed what he'd just been told and needed to clarify though his brain was working at the speed of a tortoise on land.

Tracey nodded, exhaling loudly and slowly.

She was still not used to that. And somehow, it sounded worse said aloud and coming from someone else.

For his part, Harry had no idea what to think or say. Somehow, the idea of Snape having a romantic life, or even being capable of love, had never been something Harry thought of as possible. He knew he'd been wrong about the man for a very long time, and that Snape had been in love with his mother which had been a major adjustment. And while he no longer hated the man and had grown to respect and even admire him... Harry still couldn't picture Snape being with anyone, much less being married.

Focusing his gaze on his fellow Auror, he suddenly felt a twinge of guilt. He didn't know Tracey that well. Upon his first meeting with the red-head during Auror training, he'd been antagonistic towards her to an extent. And while he barely got along with her now, and she often said or did things that were slightly grating on his nerves, he felt bad about her present predicament.

He was sure that though Tracey was a Slytherin and had a different "relationship" with Snape than Harry had when they were students, the man was still not pleasant. Furthermore, he was their teacher! And old enough to be their father!

Harry didn't know how Tracey felt about love, or marriage, but he was sure that no one would want a marriage forced on them, much less with someone like Snape.

Tracey sighed, looking up at Harry who was simply staring at her, his mouth slightly parted, though he didn't look like he was going to say anything soon.

"Great, I think I broke Harry Potter," Tracey deadpanned before burying her head in her hands, wondering what the hell she was going to do.

xXx

When Tracey got home later that evening, she nearly jumped out of her skin when she saw both her mother and Gemma sitting very comfortably on her couch. For a moment, she merely stood in her Hearth, staring at the two women, who were drinking tea and chatting away.

"Um... what the hell?" Tracey asked, her tone low and bemused.

Though Sundays were generally slow days for her, usually devoted to paper work and studying reports, Tracey found herself very tired. And she wasn't sure she was really up for company. She felt extremely drained, and the heat wasn't helping her. All she'd really wanted to do when she got home, was take a nap and maybe eat a rather big pre-supper snack and hopefully pass out in a food coma.

"Tracey, you really should mind your language," Rowena scolded with a slight frown as she got up and with a flick of her wand, got rid of the soot clinging to Tracey before moving in to hug her daughter.

"Yeah, really cousin. What kind of manners are those?" Gemma questioned with a teasing grin as she flicked some of her dark-chocolate locks over her shoulder. Tracey merely scowled at the brunette over her mother's shoulder as she pried herself gently away from her mother's hug.

"Is there a reason you're here?" Tracey asked, addressing her mother.

"I thought that perhaps we could have dinner, and discuss the contract and what we are going to do about it," her mother stated, her tone somewhat delicate.

Tracey raised a brow at this. Her stomach suddenly felt like she had sour milk and was reacting.

"What's there to talk about?" Tracey asked, feeling like they were all beating a dead horse. She really wished she could just forget about the whole thing that was turning her life into one giant, ball of misery that she was sure the titan Atlas couldn't even bear it.

"Well I've sent a copy of mine to Ira Goldstein, he's a member of the Wizengamot and has always dealt with my families legal matters," her mother offered in response, to which Tracey furrowed her brow slightly as she moved into her apartment and sat down in her armchair, discarding her Auror robes along the way.

_Goldstein_, Tracey thought with a slight frown, wondering if the man was related to Anthony Goldstein. They'd been in the same year at Hogwarts, and quite recently had broken up after dating for two or so months. And by recent, she really meant in the last six months.

_A_ _Ravenclaw, what was I thinking?_

In her brief dating history since breaking up with Theodore, Tracey dated a grand total of about ten men in about three years, and few of them had been Ravenclaws. But something that the all seemed to have in common, was that they were all somewhat anal retentive, neat-freaks that were obsessed with their jobs.

_And they say Slytherins are ambitious, _Tracey thought as she looked questioningly at her mother. Though, she was being slightly unfair, considering so many of her relationships failed because she'd been so focused on her Auror training, and were just as much her fault as her exes'.

"Did you receive your copy of the contract?" her mother asked, to which Tracey merely nodded. "And what are you going to do with it?" her mother asked impatiently.

"Well I was going to look at someone to look it over, but if you already have someone on it, what's the point?" Tracey asked, because as much as this was her life, Tracey wasn't very good at creating bridges with complete strangers. And though this was not a personal matter, she wasn't trying to make friends after all, she didn't know where to even start looking for someone that could tackle this particular matter.

"Tracey!" her mother cried, her grey eyes flashing.

"What?!" Tracey asked, though she cringed slightly, knowing that her mother was angry.

"This is your life, young lady! You can't just bury your head in the sand and hope that things will turn-out just fine, without any of your own input!" her mother scolded, her voice sharp and slightly louder than her normal speaking voice.

"I'm not burying my head in the sand. I just don't know where to look for proper... help on the matter! Besides, wouldn't it be much more effective to have Goldstein assemble a team to try to crack the contract?"

Her mother paused, her hands on her hips. A thoughtful look flitted over her face before she gave Tracey a look that meant Tracey had made a good point, but she wasn't about to admit it because Tracey was missing the point. Tracey tried not to look pleased with herself and relaxed marginally into the couch, now that her mother wasn't looking at her like she was going to turn Tracey over her knee.

"That is a good plan," her mother finally stated, schooling her features back into her regal and haughty expression. "But I think we must also meet with Severus."

Tracey cringed at the suggestion. She wanted to bury her face in her hands and whine out the question why.

"We have to see if he is doing anything about the matter. And also," her mother started, narrowing her eyes on Tracey, knowing the younger woman wanted to complain before hesitating in the next point she wanted to bring up. "Come up with a deadline... in case nothing is found. After all, a wedding takes time to plan, and there is the bonding to consider. We only have until the second week of October at the latest, and I don't want to risk even getting that close."

Tracey grimaced at this. As much as she wanted to throw up at the thought that they might not come up with anything, she knew that it was a huge possibility.

Being the pessimist that she was, and thinking herself to be quite pragmatic, she knew that her mother had a point. And as Slytherins, they all valued being well-prepared.

She just really hoped it wouldn't come to _that_.

"Fine," Tracey replied, before looking up at her mother and trying her best puppy dog look. "Could you take care of that?"

Rowena was tempted to roll her eyes. "Honestly Tracey, sometimes I wonder if you've grown up at all," Rowena retorted, almost telling her daughter it was _her_ future husband, that Tracey should be the one arranging this meeting with him, but instead she bit her tongue, not wanting to be so callous. After all, Tracey was her baby, one she'd always wanted to protect.

"Well, now that all that is settled," Gemma cut in, drawing the two red-heads' attention to her. "Dinner anyone?"

**TBC...**


	8. Accusing, Their Eyes

**Prompt:** Dead Eyes (#548)

**Chapter 8:**

_**Accusing, Their Eyes**_

"You really need to get a life," Tracey groaned the following Saturday as she allowed Gemma to root around through her clothes in her closet, while she lay on her bed, glaring up at the ceiling.

Though, she really knew she shouldn't be complaining and her problem did not stem from Gemma's company. In fact, she was awfully grateful to her cousin taking up her every evening, as that meant she had to spend even less time worrying about her impending doom... or marriage rather.

Tracey didn't even really mind that Gemma was picking out her clothes and even insisting on helping her to get ready. After all, she was more or less used to this... Daphne had been the same way. Because Tracey, left to her own devices would wear comfortable and casual clothes every day. Robes, dresses, skirts and blouses were things she only sparingly wore, when she felt the occasion called for it, or she was feeling particularly in the mood to be pretty and girly.

No, what was troubling her now was the fact that she was supposed to be meeting her mother and Professor Snape for lunch.

"_I_, have a life. It's you, my dear, who is woefully lacking a social life," Gemma retorted, before turning and eyeing Tracey carefully with a look of disapproval. "Besides, you seem to need all the help you can get when it comes to dressing yourself. Honestly, how do you get by? Every day I've seen you this week, it's been nothing but casual shorts and spaghetti strap shirts. Doesn't your department have a dress-code?"

"It's hot, and I'm working. There is nothing wrong with what I've worn, besides, I'm going to work, not to a ball. And they don't care what I wear under my Auror robes, just as long as it doesn't hinder my ability to do my job," Tracey replied, sitting up to give Gemma a good scowl. Honestly, the elder girl was acting as if Tracey dressed like a slob, which wasn't the case at all.

"Here, put this on," Gemma stated, completely ignoring what Tracey just said as she tossed a white, sleeve-less, summer dress onto the bed, with a pattern of pale pink polka dots. The hem looked as if it fell an inch or two north of the knee.

Tracey frowned at the garment, wondering when she'd gotten it. As a rule, Tracey didn't wear anything that was pink or had any tinge of red to it, as it usually clashed horribly with her hair.

"This is mine?" Tracey wondered aloud as she looked over the article, removing it from it's hanger.

Gemma crossed her arms over her abundant chest and narrowed her gaze at Tracey.

"Yes," Gemma replied, elongating the very small word in her slight vexation as she realized that Tracey had probably never worn it before. "I gave it to you two years ago on your birthday."

"Oh," Tracey said, looking at her cousin sheepishly. Gemma merely rolled her eyes and waved at Tracey who proceeded to get off the bed and toss off her pajamas before putting on the dress, unconcerned that Gemma was in the room. To an extent, sharing a dorm with other girls took a way a good deal of modesty when it came to dressing in front of other girls. And besides that, Tracey wasn't overly modest to begin with.

"Here, your pink ballet flats will go perfectly with it," Gemma went on as Tracey started to pull a brush through her hair.

Tracey had several sets of leather ballet flats, with suede soles. They were her preferred shoes for work, because they made her steps absolutely silent. Though, they did require several cushioning charms, because without them she may as well have been barefoot.

"You don't think that mum and Snape will think I'm like... dressing up for the occasion, do you?" Tracey asked with a frown as she sat on her bed to pull on her shoes while Gemma took over hair-duty. She didn't really want anyone to get any ideas about her wanting to look good for Snape.

"Doubtful. It's not like you're completely incapable of dressing nicely when the mood strikes you," Gemma replied easily, pulling Tracey's hair up into a neat bun that would help her keep cool. "Besides, considering the season, it is an appropriate choice. And I think you're meeting at some muggle restaurant anyway, so you can't really wear robes."

Tracey sat still for a moment, allowing Gemma to deal with her hair.

Distantly, she wondered where she was supposed to put her wand, but was more preoccupied in thinking that while her mother may know this, Professor Snape didn't.

But then again, it wasn't as if he knew her very well. He might not think anything about the fact that she was wearing a dress. After all, ninety percent of his previous acquaintance with her, she'd been wearing school robes and her school uniform underneath. And being as invisible as she was, she very much doubted that he noticed what she wore on weekends if he saw her around the castle.

"Don't worry. You're simply getting together to check in and see how things are going on his end," Gemma tried to soothe as she finished pinning and tying Tracey's hair.

"And set a date for the wedding, in case we fail," Tracey added dryly with a grimace.

"Professor Snape doesn't fail," Gemma said, with that infallible faith they'd all had in Snape when he was their Professor and Head of House. But Tracey didn't know if she believed that blindly in the man anymore.

He wasn't completely, the man she'd thought him to be.

Snape had always seemed so remote and cold that he hardly seemed human. And in that aspect, there was something almost god-like about him to the Slytherins. In a way, _that_ had been comforting.

But he wasn't like a god. The war showed them just how human he was. It showed everyone that he could bleed, and die... and love.

But that didn't comfort Tracey. If anything, it only served to trouble her more.

xXx

When Tracey made it to the restaurant, she quickly looked around and frowned when she noticed that only one person she was expecting had arrived. And it wasn't her mother.

For a moment, she debated whether or not she should approach the man dressed all in black, mentally wondering how the hell he could stand to wear so much black in this damn weather.

After a moment, she decided against merely waiting for her mother, thinking that it would be ridiculous and that her mother would probably arrive shortly. After all, she was usually a very punctual person. Besides that, she was getting slightly uncomfortable with the way the hostess was staring at her as if she did not belong, and the way some of the muggle business men were looking her over like she was supposed to be desert.

Striding over to the table in the furthest corner of the room, away from all the windows, Tracey ignored some of the stares of the men, which she could feel following her across the room.

As she approached the round table that was large enough to seat four, Tracey found herself studying the man who had his head bent and his dark hair shading it from view.

From what she could see, the man was wearing a black, button-up shirt with the sleeves- shockingly so- rolled up almost to his elbows and exposing his forearms. He was wearing black slacks and a set of black, leather, dress-shoes and Tracey wondered if Snape usually wore dress-shoes, or boots as most wizards did.

In his long hands, was what appeared to be a small, leather-bound book. His dark brow was deeply furrowed in concentration.

Whatever it was that he was reading as she approached, had him deeply absorbed, as he didn't seem to notice her. Not even when she was standing across the table from him and bound to be in his peripheral vision.

"Professor Snape," Tracey said quietly, by way of greeting.

Snape looked up, snapping the small book shut and tucking it out of view under the table. His gaze locked on her with an air of unconcern.

"Miss Davis," he replied simply.

Tracey, unsure what to say and seeing Snape wasn't much of a conversationalist, motioned to the chair across from him. He offered her what seemed to be a shrug in turn. Though, she couldn't be entirely sure it was a shrug. It might simply have been a twitch, or perhaps a twinge of pain.

As Tracey carefully sat across from Snape, making sure to carefully smooth her skirt down at the back as she sat, Tracey let her gaze wander away from Snape's dark eyes to his left forearm.

Though there was a glamour clearly cast on the arm to hide the remnants of his Dark Mark, Tracey was an Auror and trained to see past glamours. Tracey found it very surprising, that Snape had pulled up the sleeves of his arm and exposed the faded, white scar that was all that remained of the Dark Mark.

But it wasn't simply the faded mark that attracted Tracey's attention. It was the exposed limb, in itself that was so fascinating. She'd never before seen more of Snape than his hands, face and some of his neck and it was fascinating to see the slender but strong, exceedingly pale and finely haired limb before her.

_Even his bloody arm looks elegant, _Tracey thought with mild contempt at herself for finding anything about the man elegant. Though, she'd always though his hands to be so, in spite of the stains on them.

Perhaps because he saw her stare, though she'd only been looking with mild curiosity for a couple seconds, Snape clapped his right hand over the mark. As Tracey looked up to Snape's eyes, she found him glaring at her challengingly, as he proceeded to roll his sleeves down; daring her to make a comment.

Tracey merely met Snape's gaze evenly, trying to make her features completely passive and uninterested as she internal wondered what the hell to say. She didn't particularly feel like sitting in awkward silence until her mother arrived. But as the seconds seemed to drag on, with Tracey and former Head locked in a staring contest each too proud to look away, she found herself desperate to say almost anything to get them to break the silence.

"How have you been, sir?" Tracey asked in a light, polite voice; internally cringing at the asinine question.

Snape wasn't kind, even to his own students. And he never failed to make one feel like an imbecile, when they asked him a stupid question.

_How have you been_, was an incredibly stupid question. Considering all that came out in the aftermath of the war, the notoriety he earned himself that drove him into hiding, and the fact that he'd just recently found out he had to get married to one of his former students, the question was the height of idiocy.

_I'm turning into a bloody Gryffindor, _Tracey continued to mentally berate herself as Snape gave her an unimpressed and somewhat scathing look.

However, instead of giving her the tongue lashing she expected, Snape merely clucked his tongue and answered with only the barest hints of irony.

"All things considered, as well as can be expected," he replied, briefly looking away in what might have been a roll of the eyes if he weren't suddenly studying the table linen with his eyes and a single, yellow, fingertip. His lips twisted into a look of mild disgust before looking back up at her with his face once more smoothing into an expressionless mask. "Yourself?"

Tracey paused, completely caught unawares and not knowing what to respond. She really hadn't expected the man to be so... calm and civil.

It somewhat through her off balance to be treated like an adult by a man to whom she'd never been anything more than a child under his care and tutelage. One that he never concerned himself with very much or really noticed.

"Busy," Tracey replied, the monosyllabic response that really did nothing for their conversation the only thing able to slip past her lips. Tracey was quick to elaborate when she realized that she may as well just cast the Killing Curse on the barely budding conversation. "I'm an Auror."

Snape nodded.

"Yes, I noticed," he said with a slight smirk that Tracey had always secretly found attractive, though she'd never acknowledge of admit it. "Congratulations, Miss Davis, on achieving your ambition."

Tracey felt a surge of pride inside her chest. And she couldn't help a small smile from appearing on her lips, though she tried to keep from appearing too pleased by his congratulations as she looked around the restaurant.

Though it had been years, and her opinion on the man had changed a few times in the last two or so years of school, it still shocked her how much the need for his approval lingered. Distantly, she wondered if all of his Slytherin students felt this way.

"Mother is late," Tracey said with a frown, continuing before he made a cutting remark about her stating the obvious. That was another thing Snape would always chew out a Slytherin for. Imbecilic statements that stated the obvious were usually discouraged with Snape-flare. "That's unusual. She's usually very punctual."

Snape hummed in response, causing Tracey to turn and look at him.

At her questioning look, Snape raised a brow. "Perhaps that was intentional," he suggested, his velvety tones tinged with suspicion.

Tracey furrowed her brow slightly as she considered the idea, a frown appearing on her face.

_Well that's extremely manipulative, _Tracey thought in a huff, wondering whether or not her mother would really do that. The only benefit of course, being that it would force Tracey and Snape to spend some time together, perhaps getting to know each other beyond their limited, student/teacher relationship of the past.

And though Tracey wanted to deny such a thing, she really couldn't put it past her mother.

xXx

Severus took the moment while Tracey became introspective, to study his former student. Looking at the girl with her blood-red hair swept up in a practical, but still pretty bun, wearing a brightly colored, feminine summer dress, no one would fathom the young woman opposite him to have survived so much darkness.

She was twenty-two, he believed, if he was recalling correctly Rowena's statement from the hospital. But for all her height and slenderness, the girl looked seventeen at the oldest. He supposed the fact that the girl wore no make-up was what kept her looking so fresh-faced and youthful.

Severus briefly wanted to scowl, wondering why Tracey Davis had to be quite so pretty, and why the bloody hell she had to look so damn _young_.

He almost wished that she looked more her age, or that the darkness in her past was more wearing on her countenance. But for all she lived through, the girl was still like a rose that hadn't yet bloomed. And her waif-life appearance, in spite of her height, made her seem deceptively fragile.

But the girl before him was _not_ fragile. Not in any shape or form. And that much was clear because she _lived_.

Because of that, he respected the girl. Not something that many managed to achieve. And it accounted for the fact that he was endeavoring to be... almost pleasant to her.

Though Tracey had never been one of his favored Slytherins- she was far too faceless for that- she was also never on his shit list, to put it in the vernacular. And one didn't have to do much to make the latter.

Besides, if worst came to worst, he felt it prudent that they keep a polite base for their interactions.

Thus far, Tracey seemed to be on the same page. Though, he wasn't certain if that was simply ingrained behavior from when she was one of his Slytherins, all of whom never showed him disrespect or dissent. Except for Draco in his sixth year, he thought with irritation and an internal scowl. _The ungrateful little shit._

"Perhaps we should get started. After all, I haven't got all day," Severus stated, causing Tracey's eyes to drift over to him. And for a moment, he almost flinched at the sight of her grey-green gaze.

Tracey had intelligent and unnerving eyes. They were a strange mixture of guarded, dull and heart-broken. Though, he doubted anyone else could see the nuances of the latter or even detect the walls that clearly protected the girl.

Tracey nodded in response, though her face visibly paled and she dropped her delicate hands in her lap.

"If you wish," Tracey responded lightly and accommodatingly. "Though, there isn't much that I can tell you. My mother and I are having someone look into the contract, but I imagine that nothing useful has been found yet."

Severus frowned, but nodded. "I'm also having someone look into the contract."

"My mother thinks it would be a good idea to... set up a deadline... in case nothing is found that is, for us to begin to prepare for-" Severus stared at the girl, watching with mild fascination as he would a Potion reaction, as a tinge of pink blossomed on her cheeks. He wasn't sure if he'd ever seen the girl flustered, and found that unlike himself, the pink that painted her cheeks only served to enhance her beauty and made her eyes seem to sparkle with life.

Severus arched a brow at the girl who seemed incapable of saying the word marriage. He supposed he should be offended, and part of him felt somewhat insulted, but he didn't want to marry Miss Davis either. No matter how much he may respect her strength, her ambition, and no matter how attractive she may be, he had no desire to marry the girl.

"You would truly marry me if you had no recourse but death?" Severus couldn't help from asking in cruel tones.

But Tracey didn't so much as bat a lash.

The flush that had previously tainted her cheeks, completely faded and her eyes narrowed as her face twisted into a haughty expression that was reminiscent of Narcissa's. Briefly, Severus wondered if all females were trained to give men such potent, withering looks.

"I don't think either of us survived a war to be struck down by a damn contract," Tracey replied dryly, crossing her arms over her chest. "Besides... it's the strongest impulse in human nature to survive. At least I have no romantic delusions or dreams, so a marriage to even you, isn't really devastating."

Severus glared at the girl, his hands clenching where they were on top of the table as his teeth gnashed together. Before he could hiss out a retort, or snarl at the girl that she would be so lucky for him to agree to marry her, a waiter finally appeared by their table, requesting if they desired to order.

He silently fumed, sitting back in his chair and watched as Tracey turned to regard their waiter. He felt his jaw further tighten when he noticed the girl's gaze sweep over their waiter in a gaze that was calculating and somewhat predatory.

"Just water, thanks," Tracey replied in polite tones, giving the boy a small smile. Severus turned to regard the boy who appeared to be Tracey's age and, though Severus didn't exactly find the boy handsome, he had a lithe figure and an easy smile. Which was presently focused a little too much on Tracey.

"And you sir?" the boy asked pleasantly, to which Severus snarled that he didn't want anything.

The waiter, thoroughly startled, stuttered out a quick and incomprehensible response before beating a quick retreat. Noticing the stares of the other patrons nearby whom had witnessed the scene, Severus glared at them until they turned away before turning his gaze back to the girl opposite of him who was staring at him with her eyes slightly wide and a brow arched.

"I'd hate to burst your _oh-so-romantic _vision of our impending nuptials," Severus spat, his tone heavy with sarcasm, "But I have no intention of marrying you, consequences be damned."

He watched with satisfaction as several emotions flew across the girl's face. The most prominent being outrage and confusion.

However, when her expression settled into a bored expression, he felt his victory wilt.

Flippantly, Tracey waved her hand.

"Very well, Professor. Then we shall die together, won't that be romantic?" Tracey said emotionlessly rising from her seat before pinning him with a look so searing, he thought he might just combust. "And you can go to your grave, proud of the fact that you once more allowed one of your charges to go to an early grave and did absolutely nothing but stand by and watch. Just like with Daphne."

Severus froze in his seat, his heart suddenly pounding so loudly, he thought he might just be vibrating with it.

He felt as though he'd just walked through a ghost; felt the icy grip of death straight to his core and infest his bones.

_She knew I was there? _Severus wondered, feeling like time had frozen with Tracey's condemning words and her blank and dead stare.

As Tracey left the restaurant, without a look back, Severus found himself frowning as a pair of dead, blue eyes appeared before him. The same eyes, that from time to time, still tortured his dreams. That dead stare, always so accusing. Always so damning.

**TBC...**


	9. Hazards of Being an Auror

**A/n:** This story was originally supposed to have a Gemma/Lupin side-plot but I decided to cut it as it would make this story much longer, and I kind of just want to finish it. I'll perhaps still incorporate it, but not to the extent that I'd previously planned.

**Prompt:** My Job (#458)

**Chapter 9:**

_**Hazards of Being an Auror**_

"_What are we doing here?" Tracey asked from where she sat, her gaze on the grass beneath her. Above her head, she could feel the sense more than feel the warmth from the summer sun beating down on her. Which was very strange, but then she supposed, this wasn't real, so how could she feel anything at all?_

"_Things didn't go well," Daphne merely stated, sitting down next to Tracey. _

"_Thanks for that brilliant observation," Tracey replied somewhat sarcastically, not bothering to turn to look at her friend, though she could make out her figure in her periphery. _

_Daphne was dressed in white, with her long blonde hair loose. With the sun shining down on them as it was, Daphne almost glowed like some kind of angel as she sat with her legs tucked elegantly beneath her. _

_Distantly, Tracey was aware of her physical body, sleeping the fitful but stubborn sleep of those in a drunken stupor. Tracey grimaced to herself as she recalled what yesterday entailed, after she'd left the restaurant in a huff. _

_Tracey managed to hold it together long enough to get home and drink herself into a violent rage. From which she promptly melted into a sobbing mess after a few more shots of Firewhiskey and once her rage had rendered her tired. _

_If this weren't a dream, Tracey would be flushing scarlet at the fact that she'd melted into a blubbering mess, because of a comment she'd deliberately chosen to make so that she could potentially hurt Snape, disregarding what she was doing to herself in the process. _

"_It was a low blow, Tracey," Daphne told her in gentle tones._

_Tracey didn't respond. She didn't know how to._

_Perhaps she did hit below the belt. But she hadn't been able to help herself. She'd felt her feminine pride wounded. _

"_I suppose I'm just vindictive like that," Tracey said, wishing to sound cavalier, but only managing to sound confused. In truth, she didn't know if she really was vindictive._

_She had difficulty forgiving, that was true enough. She'd never had many friends, because she didn't really bother to be social, and she discarded those that she felt proved lacking. _

_She'd had Daphne, and Theo. Everyone else were mere acquaintances that she didn't really mind losing... which is of course happened over time. For one reason or other, every one of her Slytherin classmates was cut out of her life, and Tracey wasn't sure she really regretted that, even if it did make her lonely._

_Except for Daphne... and Theo, though she hated how much she still cared for the boy. She shouldn't. _

_With that one slap, he managed to turn her into a victim. Something she hadn't felt, even when she was held prisoner. _

_She lived in fear, of anyone finding out about her dysfunctional relationship with her first and only love. Though their relationship had deteriorated like Theodore's mind, Theodore hadn't been verbally, emotionally, physically or psychologically abusive to her. Theodore was angry, and lost, and the only time he laid a hand on her, she decided to leave. But she was sure to any outsider, they would be skeptical to believe it was only a one time occurrence with Theodore's mental instability. _

_To anyone, she'd be a battered victim, living in denial. But that was not the case. But Tracey felt humiliated just at the thought. _

"_You're not vindictive. You're just a bitch sometimes."_

_Tracey looked up, raising a brow at prim and proper Daphne who'd never spoken a swear in her life. She shook her head, telling herself she shouldn't be surprised considering this was a dream. This Daphne was little more then Tracey's mind, turning memories of Daphne into a "living" entity._

"_So are you here to scold me for what I said?"_

"_Are you really angry that he was there and did nothing? Or is it the fact that he doesn't want you?"_

_Tracey looked towards the horizon, only to find that instead of a vast field, or even Hogwarts' grounds as she'd expected, there was a familiar room. She could see herself, kneeling on the carpeted floor, bound, with her hair held in Bellatrix Lestrange's grip and with a knife to her neck so that she wouldn't look away, tears marring her cheeks, her lips trembling with the effort it took for her not to sob aloud. _

_Lying on the ground, in the center of the room, was Daphne's lifeless form._

_She could see Bellatrix cackling from behind her. She wasn't the only one. Somewhere near the back, she spotted the Malfoys, pale as sheets but looking decidedly indifferent, except for Draco who was breathing heavily and staring at his feet. _

"_I understand now," Tracey replied as she watched the masked figure standing to the direct right of the Dark Lord. The Tracey from the memory looked at the man too, her eyes locking on him. For split second, hate lit her eyes, allowing her to gather control of herself. _

_Tracey could see the exact moment a part of herself died. Her eyes became dull. Her face slipped into a numb mask as she retreated inside her mind and threw up her walls like steel shutters behind concrete walls, five feet thick. _

"_Even if he wanted, he couldn't save you. There was nothing he could do, and he had an important part to play..." Tracey said in a small voice, feeling her throat constricting, her mouth becoming dry. "He may as well have been bound and wandless as I was." _

"_Then?"_

_Tracey turned to look at Daphne. She wasn't really sure about the answer. Her brow furrowed in confusion, as she tried to think what exactly it was that bothered her._

"_Because we're Slytherins... and to him, we've never been good enough." _

xXx

Tracey felt like shit the following morning.

"I really shouldn't be here," she groaned as the rain continued to pour outside. "Why am I here?" she asked as she paused in her perusal of a bookcase, lowering her wand hand to yawn. Though she'd taken a Cleansing potion with her tea that morning while thoroughly ignoring the wreckage that was her apartment, she still had a mild headache and she felt tired as hell. She felt as if she hadn't slept at all the previous night.

She and a handful of fellow Aurors had conducted a raid in the early hours of the morning in an old abandoned manor which was suspected of housing fugitive Death Eaters. Upon determining that there was no one on the premises, they were now going through the painstaking task of clearing the house.

Which was really not Tracey's area of expertise.

There were Aurors that were good at tracking, there were Aurors that were good at handling dark or cursed items, there were those with special aptitude for solving crimes, and those that were only good for duels. But for Tracey's part, she specialized in interrogations.

"Because it's your job," Harry replied from the other side of the study they were in, where he was combing through a glass case containing many objects.

Tracey glared over at her partner. She didn't really feel in a good mood. Hangover, plus the summer heat, which was now only mildly more tolerable due to the rain, combined with the mess waiting at home for her and the very strange morning she was having, did not make Tracey a happy person.

Walking into the Ministry, Tracey thought she'd felt a lot of people staring and talking about her. Not something she was used to, as Tracey managed to make herself pretty invisible when she wanted to.

The morning only got stranger, when a few of her fellow Aurors congratulated her for no reason and patted her on the back, while others gave her pitying looks, or looks that clearly said 'What The Hell Is Wrong With You?'

Tracey thought that perhaps it was all in her head. As Harry seemed as clueless as she was, and wasn't looking or treating her any differently, she decided that it was probably nothing.

"Wotcher Harry. How are you doing in here?"

Tracey and Harry both looked up, just as Tonks bounded into the room, tripping on the end of her robes.

Though Tonks was a senior Auror, and an intelligent witch, Tracey sometimes wondered how such a clumsy woman could be such a good Auror. Though, Tracey really didn't know the witch personally.

She was sure that Harry mentioned the witch used to be married to Professor Lupin and that they'd had a kid, whom Harry was godfather to. But that was as much as Tracey knew about the woman's personal life.

"Davis," Tonks greeted as she noticed Tracey was also in the room. She then did a rather amusing double take. "Is it true?" the witch asked her, looking morbidly curious.

"Is what true?" Tracey asked bewildered.

"That you're getting married to Snape?" Tonks asked with all the finesse of a hippo doing ballet. Tracey felt her eyes bulge momentarily before her mind started up after coming to a screeching halt. For a moment, she wondered if she'd heard right or just imagined that.

"I'm sorry?" Tracey asked, shaking her head. Because there was no way the metamorphmagus, who was virtually a complete stranger to her, could know.

"Is it true that you're marrying Snape?" the woman repeated, completely unabashed about her curiosity.

Slowly, Tracey turned to look at Harry. "Did you tell people?!" she cried indignantly, because if one of her coworkers knew, it had to have been Harry who told, as he was the only one that knew apart from Snape, Gemma and her mother.

"What? No?!" Harry cried, though he looked marginally uncomfortable. Which meant he wasn't telling the complete truth.

"So it is true?" Tonks asked, her eyes widening and drawing Tracey's piercing glare form her partner. "Bloody hell! I thought Rita Skeeter was just making it all up... even the photographs."

"Rita Skeeter?" Harry asked as Tracey also gave Tonks a questioning glance, thought she could feel her stomach knotting unpleasantly.

"You mean you guys don't know?" at both of their head shakes, Tonks went on. "It was all over the prophet this morning. Front page news. There was even a picture of you both sitting together at some muggle restaurant."

"I think I need to sit down," Tracey said, moving herself over to a chaise as she suddenly felt very nauseous.

_The Daily Prophet?! Rita Skeeter?! A Picture? Front page news?!_ Tracey railed, feeling increasingly sick. Wondering how bad this was and how much worse this could be.

Rita Skeeter was a vicious, bloodthirsty leech for a good story. She was malevolent with her quill, tearing and twisting everyone she wrote her expose's about. And now, Tracey and her bloody damn arranged marriage, had caught her fancy. Most likely because of Snape's infamy as a spy. He'd become a celebrity in his own right due to his heroism during the war, only overshadowed by Harry Potter himself.

Tracey wasn't sure she wanted to know what the damn woman wrote about them.

"Are you okay?" Harry asked.

"Umm, maybe I should go," Tonks said. Though, Tracey didn't look up to see the older woman exit as she was busy trying to keep her measly breakfast from making a reappearance and calm her mind from everything that could happen as a result of this damn article.

Perhaps she should have been paying more attention. Because before Tonks, she somehow managed to trip and barrel into one of the glass cases holding countless of unchecked items. One of the objects that she managed to skim in her fall, seemed to suddenly glow an ominous red color before a pulse, like a wave of red, washed over the room.

"What was-" Tracey didn't get to finish her sentence before the world turned black.

When Tracey came to an hour or so later, she found that she was once more in St. Mungo's. "What the hell happened?"

"When Tonks tripped, she accidentally activated this chalice, and this light pulsed through the room and you knocked out," Harry explained from where he stood by her side as Tracey sat up, her brow furrowing.

She knew that this could be really bad, as objects that were enchanted in an abandoned manor being used by dark wizards meant objects were very likely to be cursed... which was why she confused. She felt _normal_.

"The Healers said you're perfectly fine, and they can't detect how the object affected you, or any of us. But you were the only one that fainted," Harry explained to her, looking her over warily. "The rest of the team took the chalice to headquarters and are conducting a thorough investigation of it while Tonks and I brought you to St. Mungo's."

"Have you heard back from Headquarters?" Tracey asked with a frown, feeling as concerned as Harry about the results. Harry shook his head. "Where's Tonks?"

"She couldn't wait to hear back from headquarters. She wants you to know she's really sorry," Harry said, to which Tracey waved her hand. Though she couldn't help being peeved at the woman who might have endangered all their asses; just because the Healers hadn't found anything wrong with them, didn't necessarily mean that nothing was wrong with them.

Tracey sighed, sitting back in bed. Sometimes she really wondered, why she'd ever become an Auror.

**TBC...**


	10. Deadline Set

**Prompt:** On the Same Page (#317) 

**Chapter 10:**

**Deadline Set**

"They couldn't find _anything_?" Tracey asked incredulous from where she was still seated on the hospital bed, waiting for the Healers to finally discharge her so she could go, as there appeared to be nothing physically wrong with her.

Tonks shook her head with an extremely pained expression on her face. She'd already apologized about a million times, but Tracey wasn't really interested in listening to it. She was more interested in finding out what they'd learned at headquarters.

"There are no curses or spells of malevolent or even questionable natures. They've had to send it to the Department of Mysteries to see what they could make of it," Tonks confirmed.

Tracey raked a hand over her face and groaned.

The Unspeakables were notorious for taking possession of something, and then acting very convincingly as if the object in question never existed, much less came into the possession of their department. Getting status updates from the Unspeakable in charge of the object that magically caused her to pass out was going to be extremely difficult, especially if she had to identify said Unspeakable first.

They could be extremely tiring individuals to question, and Tracey was an interrogator! She did not delight in what her future entailed.

"Fucking kill me now," she huffed under her breath, causing Tonks to launch into her apologies once more.

Tracey merely raised her hand to stop the witch, and gave the floor a quelling look. Really it would have been meant for the witch that got her in this situation in the first place, but Tracey didn't really see the point. Shit like this happened from time to time in the course of the job. Granted, it usually wasn't due to an Auror's clumsiness... perhaps to carelessness on the part of one individual, but clumsiness?

"I'm sure it's nothing to worry about," Harry said, but he didn't sound convinced himself. Tracey looked at him and raised a brow, causing her partner to rub his neck sheepishly.

"Nice try," Tracey said before sighing. "So when do you think I can get out of here?"

"Um... I think they want to keep you for observation," Harry replied with a grimace, hating to be the bearer of such news as no one, EVER, wanted to stay in a hospital.

"Hell no! You find one of those limes and tell them to fucking release me," Tracey snapped at Harry, causing him to jump.

"They won't do that. Unless there is someone to look after you at home... you know, make sure you don't die," Harry said, still cringing to have to be the one to talk to his partner. "That person would have to sign, saying they'd make themselves personally responsible of you."

Tracey wanted to sigh and burry her face in a pillow and scream out her frustration. However, she couldn't afford to be so melodramatic.

Before anymore could be said, someone stepped into the room, causing all three occupants to turn to the door and freeze in varying degrees of shock and discomfort.

"What are you doing here?" Tracey asked in a confused and somewhat sullen murmur as her brows stitched together; the first to recover from her shock.

"It would seem that as your betrothed, the hospital saw fit to notify me as your next of kin," Snape replied caustically as he came to stand at the foot of her bed, crossing his arms over his chest and making a great effort to ignore the other two occupants in the room while glaring somewhere over Tracey's shoulder.

"You've got to be kidding me," Tracey muttered as touched her forehead in exasperation, wondering how St. Mungo's would even know her 'relationship status'. Though, she imagined it had something to do with the damn article that apparently appeared in the Daily Prophet.

_I really need to get my hands on that damn issue, _Tracey thought irately.

Turning back to Snape, she narrowed her eyes on him. "That still doesn't explain why you came."

"I was rather hoping that you were mortally wounded, thus freeing me of our impending marriage," Snape replied in the same nasty tones.

"What the hell is your problem?" Tracey asked, narrowing her gaze on the Professor. Because she sure as hell wasn't up to being polite, given the day's events.

Briefly, she wondered if he was still vexed with her parting shot from the previous day as he glared at directly at her now. However, she didn't imagine that was it. Because if he'd really taken offense at the comment, then why would he be implying that he wished she _were_ dead.

Instead of verbally responding, Snape pulled something out of the pockets of his robes and tossed it down on the bed.

Tracey quickly snatched up the copy of the Daily Prophet, on which there was a picture of herself and Snape, seated across from each other at the restaurant. Strangely enough, the picture wasn't moving, making Tracey think that it was a muggle photograph. But despite that, the picture still managed to capture how uncomfortable and awkward the pair in question were.

Tracey almost wanted to gag at the sappy title of the article.

'_The Spy Who Learned to Love Again;  
A Forbidden Romance between Professor and Student'._

Nevermind the fact that Tracey was no longer Snape's student, and that Snape was no longer even teaching.

"How the hell did she even get this picture?" Tracey wondered as her hands twitched; she wanted to maim Rita Skeeter... but that really wouldn't solve the fact that anyone who read the Daily Prophet was very aware of a highly inaccurate version of her engagement with Snape.

"Well she's always had her ways," Harry put in with a note of bitterness.

Tracey was morbidly curious to read the article, but instead set it aside. She'd have to wait until later, when there weren't people around to witness her reactions to the printed lies.

Reaching a hand up, she closed her eyes and rubbed her temples as Snape replied that the only way Rita could have been there, was if someone told her the location and time of the meeting, as it couldn't have been a coincidence.

Of course, Tracey had already thought of this. But the only people she could think of that knew of their meeting was Snape, herself, her mother and Gemma, and all those listed seemed extremely unlikely to tell. And she rather doubted that Rita could have stalked either Snape or herself, after all, Snape was very good at staying out of the public eye the last couple years, and Tracey was a bloody Auror.

Unless of course, Snape told someone else.

"Did you tell someone about where we were meeting?" Snape asked at the same time that she looked up to ask him the same.

"No, only my mother and Gemma knew. But Gemma didn't know the exact location-"

"Gemma?" Snape asked, narrowing his eyes as they both forgot the other two Aurors in the room who were watching them interact with fascination.

"Gemma Farley, we're related," Tracey said with a wave of her hand. Snape nodded his head as Tracey asked him if he'd told anyone.

Snape ignored her question, though his attitude at least improved. _Slightly_.

Tracey guessed that he was as even more peeved that the press had gotten wind of their _betrothal_ and written about it, in what appeared was an inaccurate and romanticized version.

"Are you sure your mother didn't-"

"She wouldn't do that. There is nothing to gain from anyone knowing," Tracey replied coldly, with a roll of her eyes. Her mother might have tried to manipulate them into getting alone, but there was no way she'd let the press know about them in anyway, shape or form. "You didn't answer my question. Did you tell anyone?" Tracey asked, turning to fix her gaze sharply on the dark man.

Her gaze narrowed when he shifted his gaze towards Tonks and Harry who were both still standing there, watching the proceedings with different degrees of fascination and curiosity on their faces.

"Don't you both have anything better to do than stick your nose where it doesn't belong?" he snapped at them coldly.

With sheepish looks, Tonks scurried to say her goodbyes, telling Tracey once more how sorry she was before leaving, tripping on her way out. Tracey rolled her eyes at the clumsy witch as she turned to Harry, who said his farewells, telling her slightly awkwardly that he hoped everything was all right, also telling her that he'd track the Unspeakable down.

"Why was Potter here again?" Snape asked in a tone that sounded almost petulant, once they were alone.

"He's my partner," Tracey replied as she narrowed her gaze on him, more than aware that he avoided answering her question again. Which of course only meant that he had told someone, and didn't want to admit that whoever it was, might be responsible for the leak of information.

"I see," he replied in an inscrutable tone. Though he didn't seem particularly pleased.

Tracey rolled her eyes, wondering when the hell he was going to get over his hate for the guy.

"Would you care to explain, why I was asked to come to the bloody hospital?" Snape asked in dry tones, his eyes slowly roving to meet hers.

"Hazard of the job; I suppose if you were lucky, it would kill me before October," Tracey replied sardonically, which earned her a death glare that almost made her feel like she was an unruly student. Shifting her gaze away, she picked imaginary lint off her auror robes. "Tonks knocked over a chalice that was charmed or enchanted and sent a pulse of magic through the room. Apparently, I was the only one that fainted, which likely means I'm the only one affected. Our department didn't find anything malicious about the object, so it was sent to the Department of Mysteries for evaluation."

"I don't know how anyone as clumsy as Nymphadora ever managed to become an Auror," Snape replied, causing Tracey to look up at the anger that was in his voice.

_Nymphadora?_ Tracey wondered briefly, finding it strange that Snape would refer to her by first name. She didn't know anyone that Snape referred to in a familiar fashion, except perhaps Draco. Not that she was all that familiar with Professor Snape. _Maybe he does that to annoy Tonks, considering she prefers to be called by her last name, _Tracey considered, as that really seemed the kind of thing Snape would do. Although, she supposed Snape would still have to know Tonks to an extent to be aware of this.

"You still haven't really explained why you're here," Tracey commented cavalierly.

Snape looked somewhat uncomfortable as he shifted and tugged on his sleeves.

"I thought we could discuss- _should_," Snape corrected, not looking her in the eye but fixing his gaze on a spot on the wall. "Discuss a... deadline."

Tracey's brows raised to her hairline.

"Oh," she stated, feeling her cheeks heat up slightly. "What did you have in mind?"

"October first... to start making preparations," he replied in deadpan, still not looking directly at her.

Tracey felt slightly winded and had to take a few deep breaths to calm down.

_Just because we set a deadline, doesn't mean it will matter. Something could come up before then, _she tried to comfort herself, though still felt rather grim about it.

"Sounds good," Tracey replied tightly.

Snape jerked his head in a nod, finally turning to fix her with his intense gaze.

"And I trust, that this will be kept quiet," Snape stated tersely in warning tones.

"I'm an Auror. Discretion and stealth are requisites of the job," Tracey deadpanned, somewhat annoyed that Snape would think she had anything to do with the leak to the press while October 1st was engraved into her mind.

**TBC...**


End file.
